


Fired Up

by jeongshook



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: AU where Beacon Hills High is all about football, Alternate Universe - High School, Alternate Universe - No Werewolves, Cheerleader!Stiles, Explicit later on, Humor, M/M, jock!Derek
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-07-30
Updated: 2015-01-25
Packaged: 2018-02-11 02:30:39
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 28,769
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2049993
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jeongshook/pseuds/jeongshook
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Derek Hale is kind of a legend in Beacon Hills High School: he's smart, good-looking, captain of the football team, younger brother of <em>the</em> Peter Hale. The teachers love him, girls swoon if he so much as glances at them, he's the guy everyone wants or wants to be.<br/>Stiles? Stiles is a cheerleader.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. You gotta risk it to get the biscuit

„Dude, you should just come to football tryouts with me.”

Scott doesn’t understand, Stiles decides. Scott certainly does _not_ understand. Stiles can’t blame him for that though, not really, because no matter how good friends you are with Scott McCall, you don’t just tell him you don’t like football. Stiles literally grew up with the guy and up until this day, he hadn’t once considered telling Scott that he still doesn’t like football, that he doesn’t even get it, and that all the games they’ve watched together were really just Scott watching and Stiles reading a book, playing on his PSP or daydreaming away. He’s not surprised that Scott hasn’t caught on, however obvious he might be, partly because he’s kind of clueless but mainly because he’s so obsessed with football it’s ridiculous. If a game is on, Scott is dead to the world.

„I can’t come to football tryouts with you, Scotty. It’s just-- it’s not for me.”

„But you were on the lacrosse team!”

„Yeah, and look where that got us,” he says, pointing to the empty lacrosse field behind them. The thing is: Stiles is both angry and relieved that the lacrosse team got cancelled. Angry, because extracurriculars are important, they keep certain hyperactive students busy and they look good on college applications, and now that the lacrosse team is no more an option he’ll have to find something that will help him blow off some steam as well as keep him occupied. Relieved, because this is the perfect situation for Scott to try out for the football team without feeling guilty for leaving him behind.

Stiles knows that, and he’s also a super awesome best friend, so he claps a hand on Scott’s shoulder and tells him what he needs to hear. “Look, Scotty, we all know this team was a joke. You were the only valuable player; you were the only one who actually gave a shit about lacrosse and team spirit and whatever. Beacon Hills High is not about lacrosse; it’s about football. And who loves football? Raise your hand if you love football! Raise your damn hand, Scott!” Stiles waited for Scott to raise his left hand with a puzzled expression, then carried on with his inspirational monologue. “I know you only missed football tryouts in the past two years because of me and I appreciate that but seriously? You’re good enough to make it, and I’m not. You’ve seen me play lacrosse. I’m going to be fine, Scott. I’ll find something else to do.”

By the time he’s finished, Scott still has a confused expression on his face but there’s also a spark in his eyes that tells Stiles he understands. He understands that Stiles isn’t going to hold him back and he can finally try out for the _real deal_ – the Beacon Hills Football Team. As far as high school teams go, this one is infamously put-together and serious, they win championships and ridiculous scholarships are offered all over the place every year for the players. Stiles doesn’t get it, and frankly, he doesn’t care. What he does care about is whether Scott makes the team or not – although deep down, they both know he deserves it.

Stiles is at least eighty percent sure Coach Finstock cancelled lacrosse just so he can have Scott on the football team. He wishes it was that easy for him to find another team to join.

*

The next day is a stressful one for Stiles. Somewhere between trying to figure out whether he should join the Art Club (because even if he sucks at it he thinks he could pull it off as being a “misunderstood artist”) or the Mathletes (because let’s admit it, he’s good with numbers) and Scott trying to convince him to join the football team (which just— _no_ ), an idea pops into his head that has him distracted for the rest of his classes. It’s so ridiculous he shouldn’t even consider it, but now it’s settled at the back of his mind, and he can’t _not_ think about it. He should probably talk to someone; ask if it’s worth a shot.

Obviously, Scott is not an option. Stiles loves him, but there are certain things that he doesn’t need to know until absolutely necessary. The problem is, Stiles doesn’t have any friends besides Scott, which is a bit sad. For everyone else of course, because they’re missing out on the awesomeness that is Life With Stiles Stilinski.

The only option left is one that scares him, but he’s willing to give it a shot.

*

“Ms. Morrell?”

“Stiles,” the guidance counselor smiles at him when she looks up from her papers and it relaxes Stiles a bit. She’s one of those pretty people who are too nice to be this pretty. “Come in.”

Stiles sits down awkwardly in the chair that’s opposite from Morrell’s and tries a smile of his own and hopes he doesn’t look like a maniac possessed by some kind of demon or something.

“What can I help you with?” she asks and brings her hands up, resting her chin on her entwined fingers.

“I uh, I have a—I have a question?”

“Was that a question?”

“No,” Stiles clears his throat. “I have a question.”

“Okay,” Morrell says, flinging her hand in a kind of “go on” motion.

“Well, I was on the lacrosse team for two years and now it got cancelled and uh, I have to find something else to do because I need extracurriculars and-” Stiles stops. How does he ask this? When the guidance counselor realizes he’s not going to continue, she breaks the silence, nodding.

“Okay, I see. It’s good that you realize just how important extracurricular activities are, but I guess you don’t know what to do? Do you want me to give you a list, or some pamphlets?”

She’s so kind. She’s too kind to laugh at Stiles, he thinks, and that’s the thought that makes him blurt out the question.

“Do you think I could be a cheerleader?”

Whatever Morrell was about to say, she keeps to herself and instead opts for staring at Stiles for a solid ten seconds before she regains her composure, closes her mouth and smiles a genuine smile.

“A cheerleader? Well, why not. Do you know what you’re in for? Cheerleading takes a lot of work, especially at this school.”

“I—I’m sure, I mean, of course it is, but it’s not what I’m worried about, you know? I used to do gymnastics and stuff, but aren’t people going to, you know… say things?” he finishes lamely, not sure if he wants to go into details.

“I’m sure no one is going to _say things_ , Stiles. You’re not a girl, but that doesn’t mean you can’t be a cheerleader. Ask Isaac, he’s been on the cheerleading squad for a year now and I’m sure he’s doing just fine.”

Isaac?

“Wait, do you mean they already have a guy on the squad?”

“Haven’t you seen him at the games last year?”

He’s so not going to tell her he hadn’t been to any of the games before so he mumbles “I wasn’t paying attention” and stands, his mind made up. He grabs his bag and shouts a thank you, already out the door. He doesn’t look back, but Morrell keeps her eyes on him until he disappears at the end of the corridor, shakes her head with an amused expression before returning to her work.

*

His dad is on night shift that day, so Stiles makes dinner for both of them. When the Sheriff asks about his first day at school, he rambles on and on about the teachers and Scott, and a girl Scott likes (who is also a cheerleader, Stiles realizes and stops mid-sentence for a second) and deliberately ignores the subject of lacrosse. He manages to steamroll his dad into not asking any further questions, and Stiles is relieved when he flees from the table, saying he “has to go in early”. Stiles knows that tactic, and normally he would say something like “What, you don’t want to spend your precious time with your only son?” and maybe wipe his eyes dramatically, but today he just waits for his dad to leave, then spends the night reading everything he can find on the internet about cheerleading.

*

The next week is a blur of making excuses, watching youtube videos and practicing figures. Stiles knows he’s not as bendy or graceful as the girls he sees in the videos, but he can do the basic moves, he can do a handstand, even a backflip. He also finds out he can still do a bridge, because they made him practice it when he did gymnastics. He hated it then, but he’s grateful for it now.

Tryouts are always being held on the second week of school, and the Cheerleading Squad tryouts are always on Mondays and Tuesdays. Stiles knows that. Everyone knows that. That means there are probably going to be people watching and oh God is he dedicated enough to embarrass himself in front of everyone?

He spends the weekend with practicing and successfully manages to avoid telling his dad about the lacrosse team. He seems to be too tired anyway, talks about some big case during dinner but refuses to tell Stiles what it is, and then goes back to the station or his bed. Stiles isn’t worried; it happens all the time when the Sheriff is working on something bigger. He just wishes his dad would sleep a bit more, worry a bit less, smile a bit more often.

“You okay, dad?” he asks Sunday night, just before his dad is about to leave.

The Sheriff smiles at him; a grateful smile that’s only there for a second, but it’s enough for Stiles. He says goodbye with a smile of his own, and a promise of breakfast in the morning.

*

“Next!”

It’s Monday, tryouts day, the day Stiles Stilinski’s life ends because of dying out of embarrassment, whatever you want to call it. Stiles watches as a very, very tall girl, slightly on the skinny side stands in front of what looks like half of the cheerleading squad. They’re sitting behind a long desk, nodding, smiling, exchanging looks of judgment and just looking like they own the place (which, considering everything, they probably do). Lydia Martin, head cheerleader seems to be in her element, looking the poor girl over and writing something down before she even starts moving. Next to her sits Allison, the girl Scott has a ridiculous crush on since freshman year, and at one end of the table sits a guy who Stiles assumes is Isaac. Isaac has golden curls and blue eyes and he kind of looks edible in his crimson and white uniform, if Stiles is being honest. The whole thing looks like the scene from that ridiculous movie, the one with naked Chris Evans and maybe Marilyn Manson? And the cheerleader who has Tourette’s syndrome and makes the crowd chant “Lick my p-“

“Next!”

Lydia’s sharp call still echoes in his ears as he realizes that they are all looking at him and that he is, indeed, next. Stiles may or may not be a bit freaked out. He has three options, throwing up, running out or _doing this_. He’ll be glad later that he decided it was worth increasing his Adderall dose just a little bit that morning, even if it means the room kind of starts spinning when he stops, standing on the X taped on the floor, facing the desk. There are all these gorgeous people looking at him (all of the cheerleaders), smiling (Allison), looking him over with an unimpressed glance (Lydia), looking like they want to cover him in whipped cream and eat him up (some blonde girl Stiles doesn’t even recognize. Better keep an eye on her, he decides).

“What’s your name?” Lydia asks in such a kind tone it makes him suspicious.

“My name is Stiles Stilinski,” he starts.

“You’re not a freshman, I have classes with you.”

“I uh, I’m aware of that.” He hears some of the people chuckle, but quickly continues when Lydia raises a perfectly shaped eyebrow at him. “My team split up, I have to find a new one. I haven’t done cheerleading before but I’m uh, I’m giving it a try.”

He doesn’t go into details, but that seems to be enough for them. Lydia signals for him to start, and oh God he’s going to embarrass himself so bad. He saw girls doing some crazy stuff with their bodies today and he’s not sure if he’s supposed to be on their level but he’s one hundred percent sure he’s not even close. Still, Allison and the other girls have these reassuring smiles on their faces and maybe they aren’t sharks, Stiles thinks. Not all of them, at least.

So he jumps a couple times, says _fuck it_ in his head and goes in for the handstand. He manages to hold it for a couple seconds before falling forward into a bridge. He still doesn’t like the position but it looks cool and he’s practiced this all week. He can do this. He hopes his shirt doesn’t ride up on his stomach awkwardly as he pushes his lower body away from the ground with his left foot, his right following in the air. He has to steady himself on his hands a bit when his feet land on the ground behind him, but he doesn’t think it’s that noticeable. He stands up straight and he’s suddenly aware of all the students and even some teachers watching him. He faintly recalls a black woman shouting “Don’t forget to smile!” at her cheerleaders in one of the videos he’s watched and flashes a wide stage-smile. It makes him feel better because some of them smile back and he thinks he sees Isaac nodding as he does some basic moves. He finishes with a cartwheel followed _right after_ by a backflip which he thinks is totally awesome on his part and he even manages to do it right which is even more awesome. Join the Awesome Life and Times of Stiles Stilinski, on today’s episode:

“Thank you,” says Lydia, who’s been watching him with a firm expression throughout the whole performance, endearing and terrifying at the same time. Stiles doesn’t know how she manages to pull off the evil mastermind look as well as the sweetheart look with the same expression and he doesn’t know if he wants to find out. For now, he’s content with just leaving the subject and focusing on not tripping over his own foot while he walks to the side. He’s surprised when the people in the gym start clapping but then he remembers they’d clapped for everyone before him as well. He hears Lydia call “Next!” when he walks out the door, still smiling.

“Well, that wasn’t so bad,” he says to himself once he’s undressing in the locker room. He wipes the beads of sweat from his hairline and steps under the shower. He feels himself smile as the hot spray of water beats down on him, realizing something big. Dancing, performing in front of other people, showing his skills and actual cheerleader moves that he practiced? He fucking _loved_ it.

He’s humming when he emerges from the shower, a towel wrapped around his waist tightly and his slippers squeaking under his feet. When he looks up he halts to a stop because – okay, wow. He’s absolutely certain that there weren’t at least ten other guys in the locker room when he started showering but the weird thing is, he didn’t even hear them coming in. Almost all of them are bigger than him, they are nicely built and some of them are even moderately good-looking and God they have to be footballers. He’s in the locker room, butt-naked besides the towel to which he is now clinging to like his life depends on it, navigating between their sweaty bodies which should be disgusting but he’s a healthy, seventeen year old guy with a slight interest in other guys, okay? _Slight_ meaning _big fucking glowing neon sign_ kind of interest.

He finds his clothes and dresses quickly, listening to the very loud conversation about what seems to be a contest between two girls’ boobs and yeah, definitely footballers, okay. The thing is, up until now, Finstock coached both the football and the lacrosse team, and Stiles wasn’t at any of the games, not even Scott managed to drag him to them so he hadn’t seen much of them before, clothed or half-naked. And the sight of ten, maybe fifteen athletic guys undressing in front of him is just – he’s an awkward virgin; he’s not exactly prepared for it, okay?

“Dude, I get what you mean but I’m just saying, if I had to pick an Argent girl? Kate, without a doubt. Have you _seen_ her? Sure, Allison is cute but Kate is _hot_.”

There are a few approving cheers and a response Stiles doesn’t hear clearly over the shouting and oh, he’s finished with dressing, thank God.

“Anyways man, she only seems to have eyes for our lovely Derek here, I hope you realize that you’re a lucky son of a bitch and bang her,” someone shouts and cat-calls and cheers follow his statement.

“I don’t _bang_ people, Peter,” a guy who Stiles assumes is Derek says, heading for the showers. Stiles takes a deep breath, stuffs his clothes into his backpack and throws it over his shoulder. He does not stare at the guy’s back and he does not gulp when he sees the muscles moving beneath his smooth skin. He does not notice the tattoo between his shoulder blades and he definitely does not check his ass out blatantly. He doesn’t do that. Nope, not Stiles.

And if he thinks of an unfairly built footballer with a triskele tattoo when he jerks off in his shower that night, well, that’s nobody’s goddamn business but his.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey there! This is going to be a longer, chaptered fic with loads of humor and fluff because my first one was kind of lethargic. I've wanted to write this for a long time now because I'm a sucker for cheerleader boys and high school AUs, so I hope you'll like it as much as I do. I'm already in love with this story and I have so many ideas for it!  
> This isn't beta'd so any mistakes are my own. Also, English isn't my first language and I don't always see my mistakes so if you spot something please don't be afraid to point it out!  
> Comments, opinions and kudos and appreciated.


	2. The closet door is made of all different kinds of wood

"So, Stiles.”

Stiles jumps at the familiar voice and looks up to find Lydia Martin taking a seat next to him. If he knew watching football practices meant talking to the strawberry blonde girl he would’ve done it much, much sooner.

“Hi,” he greets her, trying to cover up the fact that he’s kind of afraid of her with a smile he hopes looks genuine. “What are you doing here?”

“I’m watching my boyfriend play football,” she says and Stiles isn’t sure if she just likes talking about her boyfriend or this is her way of subtly telling him ‘Back off, I have a boyfriend’. He wasn’t exactly planning on hitting on her either, but he has to admit she’s kind of a majestic creature and he can imagine why she has to point out she has a boyfriend every time she talks to a guy for the first time. That thought makes him sad, so he smiles at Lydia reassuringly while she applies a new layer of shiny lip-gloss. “What are you doing here?” she asks then, not looking away from the compact mirror she’s holding.

“I’m here for moral support. My friend is trying out for the team today.”

“Is he a freshman?” Lydia asks, and Stiles shakes his head.

“No, he’s a junior like me. He was on the lacrosse team,” he says and Lydia huffs. “What?”

“The lacrosse team? I’m not here to bring you down but I don’t think he stands a chance.”

“What are you implying? I was on the lacrosse team!” Lydia casts him a pitying glance. Now that Stiles thinks about it, maybe that isn’t something he should tell someone whose approval of him is required if he wants to make the cheerleading squad. The lacrosse team had a reputation of its own and it was that they weren’t even trying. Except for Scott, of course, who believes in team spirit and helping everyone around him, even if they suck at lacrosse.

“There he is!” Stiles shouts when he spots Scott walking out onto the field. His shoes are plain sports shoes and he’s wearing football gear that’s clearly isn’t his own but he looks so happy to just be there, out on the field that Stiles can’t help but feel his heart swell with pride. He stands up and waves at Scott, shouting, “Go Scotty! You can do it!” and oh God he’s going all Football Dad on Scott.

He makes a point of shutting up and sitting down, although he can’t help but smile back at Scott, who looks kind of nervous but under that he’s _beaming_. Instead he tries to pick up the conversation with Lydia again, only to find her waving at someone. She does it much more gracefully than Stiles did. He looks down to the field and immediately spots Jackson Whittemore, the douchey rich kid. Of course he’s on the football team and _of course_ he’s Lydia’s boyfriend. Then Jackson smiles cockily at the freshmen gathering on the field as if to say “look at my girlfriend, isn’t she hot” and he has really nice teeth and okay, Stiles can kind of understand Lydia’s taste in men. Jackson is a spoiled brat, yeah, but he and Lydia have a lot in common. Rich? Yes. Evil? Yes. Gorgeous? Big fucking yes.

Stiles has to do something with his hormones because they are betraying him on a daily basis.

That is the moment a very familiar pair of shoulders catch his eye and yep, that is undoubtedly the guy he jerked off to a couple of nights ago, which is kind of pathetic, considering he hadn’t even seen his face. The dude could be ugly as hell for all Stiles knows, he could have weird yellow teeth or a really fucked up nose like Owen Wilson’s or a really bad case of acne. But then of course, he turns around and – _oh_.

Okay, so. Stiles’ life is officially very, very unfair. Not only does this _Greek God_ have perfect bone structure, a cool tattoo and muscles Stiles wants to lick, he also has a ridiculously attractive face and a blinding smile and it’s just—

Stiles has to bite back a frustrated groan because this? Not cool. So, so not cool. He feels like he’s back in sixth grade, where you see someone for the first time and you feel like _this is it, this is what adults talk about, I’m finally experiencing real love_.

It’s ridiculous, how he’s suddenly aware of every little thing the guy is doing, like his senses have sharpened and he’s all Stiles sees. He notices how serious the guy looks when he isn’t smiling, probably because of his _slightly_ strong eyebrows; he notices the way he smiles when they start warming up; the slight skip in his step just before he sets off running some laps.

“Who is that guy?” he asks Lydia, trying to sound nonchalant and probably failing miserably at it.

“Which guy? The one you’ve been staring at with your mouth open for the past five minutes?” She gives him a smirk.

“My mouth wasn’t open-"

“That’s Derek Hale. Am I supposed to believe you don’t know who he is?”

Stiles has to admit he’s heard that name before. Everyone knows who Derek Hale is, but up until now, Stiles imagined him to be kind of a dick. An arrogant jock who thinks he’s the king of the school just because he can play football, and probably not even that good-looking. He didn’t imagine Derek Hale to be this mouth-watering Greek God with a smile that probably cures cancer. In other words: Stiles has successfully managed to develop a ridiculous crush on the school’s Golden Boy after only seeing him twice (but seeing him without clothes probably counts as _at least_ two times) and he’s fucked.

“So are you coming to the mall with me and Allison today?”

Stiles’ head snaps up so fast he hears something in his neck crack loudly.

*

When Lydia Martin offers you something, you take it. You don’t question it. You just go with the flow and hope she doesn’t make you carry her shopping bags all afternoon.

That’s how Stiles finds himself sitting in Starbucks with Allison and Lydia, sipping something he doesn’t even try to remember the name of, let alone spell it. When he’s certain that he’s not here to carry bags or be made fun of, he relaxes and finds that he can actually join the conversation without tripping over his own words. As it turns out Lydia really is sassy and smart, but if you know you’re on her good side you have nothing to be afraid of. About twenty minutes into the conversation Stiles realizes she is actually a lot more than fancy shoes and strawberry blonde curls. He’s not even sure how they ended up talking about science, and frankly, he doesn’t care because he’s too busy being dumbfounded by Lydia’s witty remarks and her knowledge of – well, everything.

The other thing Stiles finds out that day is that Allison Argent is a literal angel. She’s the kind of person you can picture helping injured puppies or doing charity work in a nursing home. Stiles can easily imagine Scott being happy with this girl and makes a mental note to maybe subtly ask Allison about it later.

They’re in the middle of a very scientific debate of _curly fries or no fries because they make you fat_ when Jackson shows up. Lydia greets him with a brief kiss and returns to the conversation while Jackson sits down across from Stiles and makes a point of scowling at him. He obviously doesn’t like to be ignored, or at least that’s what it seems like. What is the guy’s problem, seriously? He manages to interrupt about a minute later, and Stiles is already irritated with the guy before he even opens his mouth, but as soon as he does it, all of his appeal is lost to Stiles. He prefers nice over hot any day, except for porn but that doesn’t count.

“Why is he here?” Jackson asks Lydia, jerking his head in Stiles’ direction without looking at him.

“We’re hanging out,” she answers with a charming smile. It doesn’t seem to affect Jackson, which is weird to Stiles. Does he not see the beauty that is Lydia Martin aka his girlfriend? “Why do you ask?”

“Why are you hanging out with him?” Jackson asks instead of answering, finally looking at Stiles with an expression that is arrogant and genuinely confused at the same time.

“He’s a cheerleader, it’s what we do.”

Several things happen at once.

Jackson asks, “He’s a cheerleader?” looking Stiles over doubtfully.

Stiles shouts, “I’m a cheerleader?” which earns them a couple of looks but he couldn’t care less.

Lydia checks her hair in her compact mirror and lays a hand on Jackson’s arm.

“Well, of course you are,” she turns to Stiles. “Why, do you think we’d bring you to our afternoon out if you hadn’t made the team?”

Stiles pointedly ignores the scowl on Jackson’s face and focuses on flailing and shouting “Yes!” because _he made the team_. He isn’t even supposed to find out until tomorrow but who cares? He made the team. He’s a cheerleader.

Oh God, he’s a cheerleader.

*

“Dude, cheering? You’re an actual _guy_ cheerleader?”

Stiles doesn’t have his first practice until Monday, but that doesn’t stop him from going over to Scott’s and telling him everything because he can’t keep it in him anymore, he has to tell _someone_.

“Yeah, Scotty, better get used to it.”

“But—why didn’t you tell me?” Okay, no need to make Stiles feel bad. This is not that moment.

“I just didn’t want to jinx it, y’know? Sorry, bro,” explains Stiles. He hopes Scott doesn’t take it personally.

“It’s okay. I’m just surprised, is all.”

There’s a knock on the door. “Boys? I’m home.”

“Come in, Mom.”

Melissa kisses Scott on the cheek and looks around his room.

“This isn’t what we talked about, Scott,” she says, shaking her head.

“I’ll clean up tomorrow, I swear.”

“Okay,” she agrees with a smile. Stiles is sure it’s because of Scott’s ridiculous puppy eyes. “Are you staying for dinner, Stiles?”

“Well, uh, now that you—” he starts to say, but Scott interrupts with a dumb grin on his face.

“He is, we’re celebrating!” This is so not the way he wanted Melissa to find out. Stiles looks at Scott with a sharp glare and somehow tries to inform him telepathically that he doesn’t need everyone to know before he tells his dad (which he originally planned to avoid as long as possible).

“And _what_ are we celebrating exactly? Oh my God, did you make the team?”

“Well, I don’t know yet. But Stiles made the Cheerleading Squad!” The surprised look Melissa gives him would make him laugh if he wasn’t busy trying to convince himself that this is normal, this is so not embarrassing at all, get your act together!

“Really? And how is that, Stiles?”

“I uh—” What does he say, what does he do, what does he _say_? “I got bored of doing like, manly sports, you know, I wanted a—I wanted… a challenge?”

Did he just say he got bored of doing _manly_ sports? What is wrong with him? This is awkward. This doesn’t _have_ to be awkward.

“And they have another guy on the squad anyway, Isaac, and I thought I’d try it, you know, see if I like it,” he rambles on and on and yeah, no, still awkward.

That’s when he realizes that this is Melissa; he doesn’t have to be afraid of what she will think. She’s probably seen the best and worst of Stiles and while this isn’t one of his best moments, it definitely isn’t one of the worst. So he stops himself from rambling because why would he have to explain why he even thought of trying out? The important thing is that he’s _in_ now, he’s a cheerleader and that’s still pretty cool in Stiles’ book.

“Well, I’m making lasagna. Congratulations, Stiles.” She leaves it at that, even if her little smirk tells Stiles that they’ll talk about this eventually. Well, that could’ve been worse.

*

Of course, it’s only when he’s on his way home, stuffed with lasagna that he remembers he still has to tell his Dad. Sooner or later Scott will tell someone, or Melissa will tell someone and if that someone doesn’t tell his Dad, the next someone probably will. So he builds up some courage in himself and prepares for the worst (the Sheriff disowning him and pushing him off a cliff) but hopes for the best (he’ll take anything that doesn’t involve his dad giving him the “ _really, kid?_ ” look).

When he gets home his dad’s car is already in the driveway. He pulls up next to it, gets out, locks the car, checks if he locked it, double checks and talks himself into not wasting any more time. Twice.

By the time he gets inside he’s convinced that if anything, his father should be proud of his awesome son.

“Dad?” he calls. When he doesn’t get an answer he goes through the kitchen and finds him in the living room. When the Sheriff gives him a weirdly innocent smile he starts to get suspicious and yep, there it is. Takeout boxes, two of them that his dad is probably hoping he doesn’t notice, but are kind of hard to miss. They’re lying on the coffee table with a napkin thrown over them – probably a quick attempt to hide them on his father’s side – but they’re still pretty obvious. Stiles looks at his father, then at the boxes, then back again.

“I’m willing to ignore those if you promise not to freak out.”

“Over what?”

“Over what I’m about to tell you.”

“And that would be…?”

“What… I’m about to tell you.” Okay, now he’s just wasting time. “I uh, I’m kind of a cheerleader?”

Way to go, Stiles.

“Kind of?” his dad asks and Stiles takes a deep breath.

“So I probably should’ve started with telling you that lacrosse got cancelled so let’s just scratch that and—”

“Cancelled? What do you mean?” What would he mean, really? _Not making this any easier, Dad._

“There is no such thing as a Lacrosse Team anymore because we sucked, apart from Scott who is going to be on the football team now because they’re totally gonna take him over those scrawny freshmen and I had to find something—”

“And you decided on cheer?” There it is, the “ _really, kid?_ ” look as Stiles calls it. Crap.

“Well, I—I really like it okay?” he admits, not looking into his father’s eyes.

“I mean, if you like it then I’m happy for you, kid, I just thought maybe you would go for football too,” he says and the way he says it makes Stiles physically sigh with relief. Thank God he’s handling this so well because Stiles was about to freak out. Why was he so afraid of this in the first place anyway?

“Congrats, kid,” his dad’s hand lands on his shoulder. “You want a beer?”

That makes Stiles crack a smile. “I’m good, Dad, thanks.”

*

The next day he “officially” finds out he made the Squad, along with the blond girl named Erica whom he remembers from tryouts day and two freshmen girls he doesn’t know. When Scott spots Stiles’ name on the list he slaps his shoulder and congratulates him. Then Lydia and Allison congratulate him too and actually invite him to have lunch with them which is a _big deal_. It’s like in the movies – it’s the _popular table_.

He turns to ask Scott about it and finds him beaming at Allison, the girl smiling back shyly. They haven’t even talked yet and they are already sickeningly sweet.

“I guess if Scotty here is welcome too, then why not?” He slaps Scott on the arm, breaking him out of his daze.

Lydia looks him over and shrugs, pursing her lips. “Why not? See ya!” And they are walking away, whispering and giggling about something. Girls, man. Stiles does not understand them.

*

Derek Hale is currently glaring holes into Stiles’ skull from across the table and he can’t decide if it creeps him out or turns him on. He’s certainly freaking out and he’s trying hard not to show it. He hopes his voice doesn’t sound as high and hysterical as he thinks while he talks to Lydia about next Monday’s practice while subtly glancing at Derek from time to time, just to check if he’s still watching him with aggressive eyebrows. He’s kind of tempted to just ask the guy what the hell his problem is, but he’s simply too attractive. Stiles can’t actually talk to him because then he’ll have to look at him and his Godly face and his body and yeah, chairs, potatoes, uh, grandma in underwear—

When the topic finally changes the guy finally stops glaring at Stiles and starts talking about some party with Boyd and then he smiles and suddenly Stiles is the one staring. The guy is just so – well, he’s beautiful. He’s got these amazing unique light green eyes and such a perfect smile and a slight stubble and a deep voice that makes Stiles’ knees go weak.

“Are you even listening?” asks Lydia, making him snap out of his daze by poking at his shoulder. Stiles hopes he manages to wipe the ridiculously obvious look of admiration he’s got going on and turns his attention to her again.

“Oh yeah, you were saying?” He tries to sound nonchalant, even when an embarrassing giggle escapes his mouth.

Lydia is looking at him like she just discovered the gateway to The Lost City of Atlantis or something and Stiles decides he doesn’t like that look.

“Stiles?” He hears then and he wants to moan at the sound of it because Derek Hale said his name. So what if Stiles decides he doesn’t want to hear any sound ever again? It’s his problem. His head snaps in the direction of the voice and Derek is looking at him like – well, probably what he looks like at any other person but it’s special because he’s the most droolworthy person Stiles has ever seen. _Ever._

A week ago, Stiles would’ve never thought he’ll be sitting with the cool kids in lunch break, chatting away with Lydia and other cool people like the tall, dark and handsome footballer Vernon Boyd or the absolutely stunning Danny Mahealani. It’s weird but it’s still awesome. This, though? This is too much. Derek Hale wasn’t meant for the eyes of the human.

“Yeah?” he manages to croak out, his throat suddenly closing up and totally betraying him.

“Jackson is having a party next weekend and it’d be cool if you came. He can’t tell you himself because he’s a child.”

Stiles is pretty sure Jackson can’t invite him himself because for some reason he hates Stiles’ guts, if the looks he keeps giving him are anything to go by. He doesn’t voice that though, just continues to stare with what he knows is a dumb look on his face.

“He’d _love_ to come to Jackson’s party,” Lydia says beside him and makes a point of looking at Jackson, who casts her an irritated glance before continuing to glare at anything that isn’t his girlfriend.

“Great. See you there,” Derek says and gives Stiles this big smile that reaches his eyes and shows his adorable bunny teeth.

Stiles is so, so fucked.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know I can't exactly call this a filler chapter because there are things happening but I don't know if I'm entirely satisfied with it or if it's good enough, so. You tell me. I really hope you like it though!  
> The title and the chapter titles are from the movie Fired Up which is one of my absolute favorites and is partly responsible for this fic.  
> Unbeta'd, so any mistakes are my own.  
> Comments and opinions are welcome, as always.


	3. Do not poop where you eat, remember? That's why there are no restaurants called "The Bathroom."

The weekend passes uneventfully; Stiles mostly just stays home and plays games and when he feels like he’s buzzing with energy he goes running. The air is still warm with the late summer wind but it’s nice to get out of the house and just run. For some reason it makes Stiles feel organized. He decides he likes that feeling.

When Monday rolls around he feels much calmer than he did a week before, probably because he doesn’t have to be afraid of not making the team. Embarrassing himself? That’s a completely different thing that he still has to figure out how not to be afraid of. Yes, he is very afraid of making a fool out of himself and that just scares him even more because if there’s something Stiles Stilinski doesn’t care about, it’s looking like an idiot. That’s how it always was and that’s how it should be now, but it’s not. This time it’s something different and he doesn’t really know what it is; maybe he just doesn’t want to fuck this up.

He hopes his uniform is going to arrive soon, but until then he’ll just have to do with something comfortable. In the morning, he packs in a pair of blue track pants and a t-shirt that isn’t too baggy but not uncomfortably small on him. He slips into his running shoes, even though he knows it’s going to be gross to not have a pair of spare shoes after practice but you know. It would take extra energy to actually carry another pair so he figures he’ll live.

*

“After you’re done warming up we’ll go through this year’s plan and go through some basic things you’ll need to know. The rest will come soon enough,” their coach, Braeden explains to Stiles and the other new members. “The warming up is important and we’ll go through that too, but not today. For now, go and do it with someone.”

Stiles ends up warming up with Isaac, the curly-haired boy explaining everything he does; what warming up does, what muscles you’re working when you twist yourself in different ways, why it’s important to push yourself a bit more every time. It’s quick and effective. Stiles is surprised by how smoothly it goes, how easy it is to copy everything the other boy does – even if he can’t pull his leg as high and can’t bend as far as Isaac can.

After that, they all gather around Braeden and she sketches the (rough) plan of their semester onto a whiteboard. Stiles notices there’s a neat line of small cheerleader stickers at the bottom and he smiles. Then he focuses on focusing on Braeden because she’s kind of intimidating in a unique cheer coach way that makes Stiles want to impress her and hide from her at the same time.

*

It’s an hour after the end of his first practice and Stiles is sore _all over_. The first half hour was fine – he learned basic moves along with the rest of the new members. After a few minutes he caught on pretty quickly, his mind registering Braeden’s shouts automatically and moving into positions like “Low V” or “Touchdown”. Having already practiced most of these moves he felt like he was doing quite good, and the girls were doing well too. The obviously did cheering before because they were seriously good and their moves were on point (something Stiles will surely have to work on, but for now he’s feeling good about his progress, thank you very much).

That was when the nightmare began.

Braeden informed Stiles that she’s delighted to have him on the team because there are now two boys. She explained that in her opinion, boys make better bases and there’s nothing degrading against women to admit that. She forgot to mention that it would probably be better if she didn’t test Stiles’ skills at catching flying girls right away in action. Getting Kate up there was fine, and supporting her ankle was something Stiles could definitely do, but then Braeden shouted something he didn’t catch and he realized a moment too late he was supposed to help Kate down. The others were already shifting their arms in order to catch her but then there was Stiles. Needless to say, Kate ended up falling on top of Stiles with a dull _thump._

She then proceeded to scream at him; she couldn’t believe Stiles was so clumsy and unfocused and that she has to deal with the freshmen because of course they’ll drop her on the first go. Then, “If you drop me again I’ll cut you _up_ ,” whispered into his ear in such a serious tone it made him believe she’d actually go through with it. He convinced Isaac to let him support Lydia instead, who was a lot nicer than Kate and didn’t scream at him, even if they did drop her a few times.

Now, Stiles is hurting in places he’s sure people aren’t meant to even feel, ever, and he can’t do anything but whine and feel sorry for himself. He’s lying on his bed, _finally_ , and contemplating if he should just call it quits now. But that’s – no. He doesn’t do that. God, he needs to work out.

“I need to work out,” he says to himself. The sentence feels odd on his tongue, but he can’t help but look forward to that. He wasn’t very motivated to get a manlier and nicer body until now, but he finds that feeling guilty about dropping girls on the ground or on himself is a thing he wants to avoid, if possible. Conclusion: He needs to work out. He never would’ve thought cheering required such abdominal strength and it’s scary how those fifteen year old girls are in a better shape than him.

He thinks about asking Derek for some tips on working out because come on. The guy surely wasn’t born with that body, he has to do _something_. He thinks about Derek doing push-ups and bench presses, thinks about him all sweaty and panting, lifting heavy stuff and maybe lifting Stiles’ legs so they sit on his shoulders—wait what?

Stiles huffs in annoyance and sticks his hand down his pants.

*

Of course he manages to run into the football team in the locker room on Tuesday. It was only a matter of time, really, but Stiles was hoping to avoid them for longer than a day. He has his rightful spot at the cool kids’ table now and he’s seen some of them at lunch, but that’s different. That’s so much different because they have clothes on. Yeah it’s a locker room and they have to change, he knows that. He just doesn’t know if he should be frustrated at the sight of shirtless Derek or thank God for sending him Stiles’ way.

“How’s cheerleading, Stiles?” he asks and Stiles honestly can’t decide if he’s being super nice or super mocking. Still, Derek is talking to him and if he chooses to answer they will be talking to each other. Which is something Stiles wants to do with Derek, among other things. He forces himself to look at Derek’s stupidly attractive face and shrugs.

“It’s okay. I have to improve my strength though – hey I meant to ask you, do you like, work out? I mean of course you do but what do you do? Because I dropped your girlfriend the other day and she threatened me and dude she is _mean_ —”

“My what?” Derek is looking at him like he said something particularly funny even though he’s sure he just told him the traumatizing events of Monday. His what? What did he say? Oh, right –

“Girlfriend. Kate Argent? She’s your…?”

“She’s not my girlfriend.” It’s a simple statement; he really shouldn’t feel a spark of hope inside him because that’s just ridiculous.

“Who is, then?” he asks, for some reason, for some _goddamn_ reason he can’t name, why can’t he keep his mouth shut?

“Who – no one. I don’t have a girlfriend, Stiles.”

“Oh, uh. Cool. So, you can help me work out?” All it’s meant to be is a desperate attempt at changing the topic but as soon as he says it he realizes he just made this thing even more awkward. Why did he have to say that? Just, why Stiles? Why to Derek?

And dear God why, why is Derek shirtless? He’s so good-looking that he makes Stiles stumble over his own words and sputter out dumb sentences, which is not something a lot of people can do. Stiles likes to think he is smart, that he’s quick-witted and sarcastic but all of that vanishes around Derek. It’s like he fucks up because he’s trying too hard not to fuck up. He looks so good it’s unfair and Stiles is so mad at him because if he wasn’t so gorgeous then this would be something he could laugh off, probably. He’s also mad at him for smiling at him like he’s a five year old or something; like he just made the most amusing statement about cars or football, or whatever five year olds talk about.

“Okay, no, I didn’t mean it like that—”

“Like what?” The bastard is smirking.

“Like anything okay? I am honestly just curious about your working-out habits and I just want to get a bit stronger so I don’t drop _Psycho_ again, so can you please give me some advice before I say anything else? Shutting up now, this is your cue,”

Derek is still smiling at him with that hint of wonder on his face.

“Sure,” he says, and then shuffles out of his trousers and, god, his underwear. Stiles can’t wait for any answer he might want to give though, he has to get out of here.

“Delightful. See you around!” Stiles shouts and flees from the locker room.

*

Refusing to have a mental breakdown because of what happens every time he speaks to Derek – Stiles embarrassing himself and Derek probably laughing at him afterwards – he just ignores it and goes shopping with Allison and Lydia. Because that’s what they do. They end up sitting in Starbucks again, chatting away, laughing, the girls gossiping while Stiles listens. He's glad to be one of them now. Lydia tries on the headband with small roses she got herself, takes a selfie and asks, “How does it look?”

It’s kind of adorable, if Stiles is being honest.

God, does being into dicks make him a girl? Why does he suddenly use words like “adorable” to describe a headband? Or is it just some shopping queen hidden deep inside him? He honestly can’t decide which is worse, and he doesn't want to. He’s still got some of his dignity left.

“So, Allison, do you like someone?” Stiles turns suddenly towards the girl, catching her off guard.

“Not really, why?” she asks with a puzzled expression.

“Well, my friend Scott… he has this awful puppy crush on you since like, freshman year. No, don’t laugh. He’s like an imprinted baby duckling, and it’s awful to watch him pine.” Stiles hopes he doesn't break the Bro Code, what with being five seconds away to practically beg Allison to give Scott a chance.

“Stiles, he’s been having lunch with us for almost a week now and he didn’t speak to me once. I don’t think he’s that interested.”

“Now, Allison, the thing is he’s _too interested_. He’s afraid that he’ll blow his chance by speaking to you, which is so not true, I swear.”

“So what, should I forcefully drag him on a date or what? He’s the guy.”

“Okay so, if he would ask you on a date…”

“I’d probably say yes. He does have to ask me though,” Allison says and Stiles is okay with that. He isn’t sure if he can convince Scott to actually talk to Allison, but what is he even on about? Allison is so nice, and it’s not like he’ll embarrass himself straight away like in some cheesy movie. Then Stiles remembers every awkward half-conversation he and Derek had over the five, maybe six times they met and okay, no, it’s totally possible.

*

On Thursday, Derek calls Stiles.

He’s having lunch with his Dad when his phone starts ringing. He wants to ignore it, but his father gestures for him to go ahead. There’s no name, just a number flashing on the screen and he expects it to be Isaac because he gave him his number the other day, or maybe even Erica. What he doesn’t expect is the deep voice greeting him at the other end of the line that belongs to one Derek Hale.

“Stiles? Are you there?” He should probably answer.

“I uh, I am. Here, that is. Uh,” Smooth, Stiles.

Why does he do that? He doesn’t get this flustered because of attractive people, it never really happened before and it shouldn’t happen now. No matter how obscenely perfect Derek is, he’s still just a person. Maybe if Stiles would stop crushing on him so hard he could see Derek’s flaws for himself and just forget about him. Shame that’s not how it works, though.

“…are you there?” Derek asks, _shit_ , Stiles totally zoned out while Derek was talking to him.

“Yeah, I’m here,” He sees his father trying to load the dishwasher by himself so he elbows him out of the way. “I was just thinking. Sorry, what were you saying?”

There’s a soft laugh from the other end of the line.

“I was saying you should come to mine and we’ll figure something out for you.”

Stiles is not going to admit it later, but he mouths “ _YES_ ” and throws his fist in the air, because he can, because he wants to, because of reasons. Because Derek Hale just invited him over. He actually invited Stiles over to his house, is this the real life? His Dad looks at him condemningly and shakes his head. He leaves a moment later, gathering his keys and phone and muttering under his breath.

“Yeah, that’s fine. So when should I?” he asks, managing to keep his voice calm. It is a victory on his part.

“What are you doing now?”

“Like right now? I’m loading the dishwasher,” Stiles smiles, feeling some of his worry fade away. See, he’s fine, he’s making jokes and everything.

“Well, that sounds like serious work. If you’re free after that you should come over.” Derek’s voice is nice and low in his ear and if Stiles pretends to notice something suggestive in his tone, well, that’s what he gets for having a stupid crush on Derek. A very manly man-crush, but a crush nonetheless.

“Oh, okay. Text me the address.” It’s really fucked up, to be honest, because he was sure he still had his cool indifferent voice thing going on, but his voice comes out weirdly low and croaked.

Still, he’s going to Derek’s. There’s no backing up now. Stiles thinks this is a good opportunity to conquer his doubts and just have a good time with Derek. He’s probably very nice anyway. Perhaps it’s not going to be so bad, and at least he’ll get a chance to get to know Derek a bit better. Stiles decides he’d like that very much, because Derek isn’t just hot; he’s _interesting_. That’s something Stiles doesn’t want to think about right now.

*

When he pulls up in the driveway, Derek is already standing on the porch in all of his glory. Stiles doesn’t want to embarrass himself so he doesn’t stare when he gets out of the car. He gives Derek a quick once-over and lifts his eyes back to his face. Sweatpants, t-shirt, barefoot. Still mouth-watering. Derek guides him inside and he notices there’s no one in the kitchen or the living room.

“Are your parents home?” Stiles asks because parents tend to hang out in the kitchen when they’re home. It’s just a thing they do.

“No, it’s just us and Peter,” comes Derek’s quiet answer. He makes a face when he mentions Peter’s name – Stiles doesn’t know what to make of that, he’s never talked to Peter before. Is he that awful? Everyone seems to love him at school and everyone talks about him, too. Stiles can probably recite every rumor circulating about him word to word.

“Cool,” Stiles states lamely. When they arrive in Derek’s room and he catches a sight of some weights in one corner he suddenly becomes aware of why he’s here. Right.

Derek doesn’t close the door which is something Stiles is grateful for. He can’t quite wrap his head around why that is comforting but it is, for some reason. Maybe he doesn’t want to stay in a closed room with Derek because he might die. Maybe he likes to know there’s a way out, if he decides to run off? That doesn’t make any sense.

Derek’s room isn’t large but it’s enough for one person. The walls are plain white, but there are pictures all over them. Stiles examines them and notices that Derek has lots of movie posters and several posters of bands and festivals, too. The pictures where Derek is with his family are hanging on the walls in frames. He has a single bed, a desk with a computer on it, a TV and a closet. There’s a closed door that probably leads to a bathroom. He turns around and Derek is standing there just staring at him, like he’s trying to figure something out, and Stiles wants to look away because he doesn’t want this to be awkward but he can’t. Then, after what feels like at least ten seconds (could be less, could be more) Derek clears his throat and looks away. Stiles looks down and brings his hand up to scratch his neck, even though it wasn’t itching in the first place.

“So what did you want to know?” Derek breaks the silence and his smile helps Stiles to relax again. And just like that, the tension disappears and they’re okay again.

“Yeah, so I’m a base right? And I have to gain some strength because if I keep dropping the flyers they’ll kick me off the team. I run so my legs are kind of – okay, I guess. What I need is arms and back and, you know, just—abdominal strength. And you look like you could help me.”

Stiles successfully covers his cringe attack with a smile. If he keeps saying dumb shit like that he’s going to throw himself off of the face of Earth. But Derek doesn’t seem to mind it all that much, if his wide grin and dimples are anything to go by.

They end up talking about it for about an hour, and then talking about anything and everything else for three more hours which is just, _wow_. As the conversation shifts from working out to random topics, Stiles realizes that he and Derek get along okay. Stiles gapes at Derek for a solid minute when the other boy tells him he watches Doctor Who, which then they proceed to talk about for what feels like forever. They have a heated argument about bands and just music in general which ends in Stiles chasing Derek down the hall with his phone blaring One Direction, trying to get it as close to him as possible. He’s not even ashamed he has Kiss You on quickplay, tormenting Derek with it is just too much fun.

The crash into a wall and it hurts but they’re laughing so hard Stiles’ stomach hurts and there are _tears_. They slide down against the wall, holding onto each other, shaking with laughter. Then Peter emerges from his room and shouts at them with a glare that’s supposed to be serious but in their current state it’s just plain hilarious and they end up laughing even _harder_. Stiles can’t recall a time he had this much fun with a person he had a crush on, mostly because his none of his previous crushes actually noticed him before, let alone hung out with him. He’s glad it’s Derek who finally did though, even if he probably doesn’t give Stiles a second thought when they aren’t hanging out, but hey, he’ll take what he can get. Hell, he’d probably take a dirty potato from Derek and would probably end up keeping it under his pillow.

God, he’s so gone already. It doesn’t really help that once Derek conquers his desires to glare holes into the universe he’s a big giddy ball of sunshine and muscles. Speaking of muscles, Stiles hopes to get some of his own soon with the tips he got from Derek. He really hopes that it works out, partly because it would be nice to look a little manlier now that he’s growing into his long limbs, but mainly because he doesn’t want anymore incidents with the girls. Allison laughed at them when he mentioned that he’s terrified of Kate and he didn’t say anything else but it’s still true.

Derek follows him out to his car and Stiles turns around, not really wanting to go yet. He shuffles on his feet awkwardly and smiles at Derek. He immediately gets a smile back.

“This was fun,” Derek tells him, and he seems honest. “I can’t even remember the last time I laughed this much.” Derek reaches behind Stiles to open his car. His arm stays extended next to Stiles, his hand on the door and God they’re close.

“Yeah, me neither,” Stiles agrees, swallowing. The smile Derek flashes is brilliant, his teeth white and perfect, his skin looking soft in the last golden rays of the Sun. Stiles could probably kiss him right now, if he wanted to, but he knows better than to do that. He doesn’t want to ruin the friendship he doesn’t even have yet by acting on a sudden impulse of a crush he had for a whole two weeks now. He pats Derek’s shoulder twice, lingering a bit, and then getting into his car.

Derek shuts his door and waits for Stiles to start the car. The corners of his mouth are still tilted upwards in an almost-smile. Stiles pulls out of the driveway and onto the road. He turns to wave with one hand but Derek is already inside, shutting the door behind him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The last few days I was super tired so this is a couple days late, I'm really sorry about that. This chapter focuses more on Stiles. I hope you like reading this as much as I like writing it :)  
> As always, comments and opinions are very welcome! I'd love to hear what you think!  
> Also, this is unbeta'd so any mistakes are my own. If you see something, feel free to point it out! :)


	4. That's prohibidado

Stiles is having dinner with his dad the next day when his phone starts buzzing on the table. He thinks about ignoring it, seeing as he’s in the middle of a conversation with his dad, but he checks who it’s from anyway. The number displayed on the screen looks vaguely familiar and he immediately thinks it must be Derek’s. Stiles didn’t have the time to save his number yet, but who else could it be?

_Left your hoodie here._

It’s all the text says but Stiles has a guess that it’s from him. And now that he thinks about it, he really can’t recall grabbing his hoodie when he left, so it must be still at Derek’s. His dad is looking at him from across the table but doesn’t say a word. Texting at the table is something Stiles almost never does, only when he’s by himself or when it’s really important. It’s what he’s been taught when he got his first cell phone, a flip phone that he adored and still has tucked away in one of his drawers. Still, he can’t help but smile and text Derek back quickly.

_how did u get my number anyway?_

It’s not the best reply, but it’s a question he wanted to ask earlier, but forgot about when he got to Derek’s. He puts his phone down quickly and shoots an apologetic smile towards his dad. It doesn’t even take a minute and his phone is buzzing again. Now that Stiles knows who is texting him he can’t just _ignore_ it; partly because he doesn’t want Derek to think he’s ignoring him, but mainly because he’s actually interested in Derek’s answer.

_From Lydia. I hope it’s not a problem :)_

For some reason the smiley face calms Stiles, even though he didn’t actually realize he was anxious about anything in the first place. He feels his lips turn up into a creepy smile, and then remembers that his father is still there. He looks up and yep, the Sheriff is staring at him like he doesn’t even know how Stiles ended up being his son.

_its not, haha. can u bring it to school 2morrow?_

As he waits for the answer, his dad finishes eating. Stiles rinses the dirty plates briefly before putting them in the dishwasher. He quickly washes his hands afterwards and sits back to the table, grabbing his phone. Derek hasn’t answered yet.

“How are you doing, son?” Usually his dad asks that when they start eating dinner, but today he’s been quiet throughout the whole meal. Stiles knows that he’s exhausted, he can see it in his eyes, hear it in his tired voice, and sometimes Stiles just wants him to rest for a while and relax. God knows he deserves it. He’s grateful that he still wants to know what goes on with Stiles though, so he tells him all the important things that had happened to him.

“I’m doing well. I have cheer practice every day and it’s hard but I think I can take it. I made new friends, too! It’s crazy because I’ve never really had friends before, you know, besides Scott and now it feels like I’m neglecting him. We still hang out together a lot, but now that I hang out with Lydia and Allison and Derek too, I feel like I don’t see much of him.” Stiles didn’t mean to dump all this on his dad but it kind of just came out. “So how are you doing?”

“Who is Lydia? And Allison?” his father asks, ignoring his question. “And Derek.”

“Lydia and Allison are my teammates and Derek is—he’s a friend.” He doesn’t know what he wanted to say about Derek but he’s kind of glad he didn’t blurt out anything stupid. His dad doesn’t know anything about his sexual preferences, although Stiles always assumed that if he knew he was bisexual, he’d be okay with it. Still, he doesn’t want to drop that bomb on him by telling him about how he really wants to kiss this football player at school.

“I’m happy for you, kid,” his dad tells him, and then stands up from the table. “I’m gonna take a shower and get some sleep.”

“Night, dad,” Stiles calls after him, and then heads up the stairs. He’s just stepping into his room when his phone suddenly starts buzzing in his hand, making him jump in surprise.

_We don’t even have school tomorrow. Jackson’s party?_

Oh yeah, today is Friday. That means tomorrow is Saturday and _that_ means he’s going to attend the first house party he’s ever been invited to. There was always a scenario about how this would go down in the back of his head; he would somehow become popular and very attractive, some football jock would invite him to one of his infamous parties and he would gracefully decline it, letting everyone know that he’s better than them. He would, naturally, become the high school sweetheart and live happily ever after. Yeah, it’s not what actually ended up happening, but Stiles was also certain that he would never _actually_ get invited to one of these parties, and yet here he is.

_please bring it if its not a prob._

Stiles sits on his bed and turns on his Xbox. Even though it’s only the second week of school he already has a fair amount of homework assigned, and playing is the only way he can delay writing it right now. His grades are good and he usually does all his homework on time, but he’s kind of still in denial about summer being over. He really had a great summer, he worked at a bookstore and hung out with Scott a lot, they even went clubbing once, except they couldn’t actually get into any clubs so that wasn’t a success. However, it was very nice and Stiles isn’t very happy it’s over.

_It’s okay. See you there! x_

Stiles may or may not be staring at his phone like it suddenly grew a head. Did Derek really put an _x_ at the end of a text? Or more specifically, at the end of a text _to Stiles_? Is that really a thing that just happened? Stiles’ mind starts racing immediately. Maybe Derek’s finger slipped. Mabe he doesn’t know what it means. Maybe he’s just that kind of guy who does that when texting. Maybe it was out of habit; maybe he really always does that. Stiles shouldn’t assume no one does that just because he himself doesn’t. It’s really nothing to freak out over. It’s just two dudes texting. God, that sentence is so weird. Like some fucked up sexting porno title or something.

Stiles needs to get himself checked out, he thinks, because he might be going crazy. He doesn’t get much sleep that night.

*

Stiles would never admit it to anyone but he’s kind of nervous about this party, and for several reasons too. For one, it’s his first party. It’s the first one he’s been invited to and the first one he will attend. He doesn’t know what to wear, what to say, how to act, doesn’t know if he should dance or not, if he should drink alcohol or not. He really wants to drink alcohol. Just to see what all the fuss is about. Reason number two why he’s nervous is very obvious: this is not just any party, this is Jackson Whittemore’s party. Not only is he the most self-centered and arrogant dude in the whole universe, he also made it clear that he doesn’t like Stiles in the slightest bit. He didn’t even invite Stiles, Derek did. Oh, speaking of Derek, he’s the third reason of Stiles’ anxiety. The more time Stiles spends with him, the more he wants to know about him. He still thinks Derek is unacceptably hot and should be showered in kisses every hour of every day. But he realized that he’s also taking interest in Derek as a _person_ , rather than just a piece of meat. Sure, Derek and his broody eyebrows are often very scary, but as soon as he opens up a bit he’s all sunshine and rainbows. He’s funny and interesting and kind of a dork, really. He also seems to like Stiles, for some unknown reason, or at least that’s what it feels like.

Stiles sleeps in and so does his dad; they have lunch together and Stiles breaks the news to him. His father doesn’t seem all too phased about Stiles going to a party, but Stiles sees something on his face that he can’t quite put his finger on. The Sheriff’s eyes widen just a little, and his mouth twitches like he wants to smile – Stiles doesn’t know if the expression threatening to break through is amusement, pride, or something else entirely. However, he’s a one hundred percent certain that deep down his dad is glad he’s going out and having fun. He’s not entirely sure on the having fun part, but he’ll just have to wait and see how it turns out.

Scott comes over at eight, just after his dad leaves, looking – well, kind of good, actually. His hair is styled in an I-care-enough-to-show-how-much-I-don’t-care way and he’s wearing clothes that actually fit him. Jeans, a red shirt and a jacket draped over his arm. He’s clean-shaved and he’s wearing the cologne his mom got him for last Christmas, the expensive one he doesn’t wear to school every day. He really does look good. Stiles doesn’t ask, but he has a feeling it has something to do with the fact that Allison is going to be there as well.

Stiles is still in his pajamas, so Scott’s arrival is his cue to start getting ready. He takes a very quick shower and actually dries his hair, which is something he never does, even though he let his hair grow out over the summer. He styles it in the way he does every day (minimal amount of product, messing it up until it looks good). Scott is checking his Facebook when he enters the room again. He shuffles into a pair of boxer briefs and throws his towel on Scott’s head.

“Dude! I just did my hair!” Scott exclaims, flailing under the towel and Stiles can’t help but laugh at that.

He contemplates wearing his black jeans but decides against it. He sometimes wears them to school, but only when all his other jeans are too dirty to survive another day. They’re a little on the skinny side – so not very comfortable. Stiles prefers comfort, thank you very much, no matter how many times Lydia tells him they make his legs look good. Who cares? He’s a guy. He pulls out a light blue pair of jeans, sniffs them (not too bad) and throws them on the bed. Then he pulls out some t-shirts and decides on the grey one that has a palm tree pocket.

He’s just about to step into his jeans when his phone rings. The caller ID reads Lydia, so he picks it up immediately.

“Hey,” he greets her.

“Wear your black jeans,” comes the command from the other end of the line. Stiles looks up at his pair of jeans around his ankles and thinks “ _Is this girl telepathic?_ ”, even the idea of it freaking him out. “Don’t wear plaid.”

“I wasn’t going to wear plaid, Lydia, and do I have to?” he argues, but steps out of his jeans anyway.

“Absolutely. Those are the only decent pair of jeans you own.”

“But they’re uncomfortable and they feel too small,” he says, and then sighs, defeated. He goes back to his closet and shuffles into the Jeans of Satan.

“What shirt are you wearing?”

“Oh my God! I’m sending a picture,” Stiles exclaims and hangs up. He throws his shirt on quickly, checks if his hair is alright and takes a picture of himself in the long mirror that’s on the inside of his closet door. He sends it to Lydia and fishes out a pair of socks from his bottom drawer. He can’t see it, but Scott is looking at him like he’s just a moment away from breaking into laughter. Lydia bossing Stiles around is something he’s very amused by.

_Lookin good! Be there in 10._

Lydia never said anything about coming to get him, but who is Stiles to argue? He sticks his phone into one of his back pockets and his wallet into the other one – just in case. He applies some deodorant and cologne, pulls his socks on and turns to Scott in a motion that means he’s all ready.

Lydia arrives exactly 10 minutes later with Danny. Stiles can’t really imagine a situation Jackson would let them take his Porsche, especially not to pick Stiles up, yet here they are. Stiles closes the door and sticks his keys into his pocket – he would normally put them in his hoodie but he doesn’t have it. Derek has it. Why did Stiles even have to bring it to Derek’s? Not like it’s cold outside or anything. It’s a very light hoodie and he always carries it around, but still.

He’s kind of grateful that he doesn’t have to take the Jeep, he thinks as he gets into the backseat with Scott. It’s probably for the best, especially if he’s really going to drink tonight. Yeah. Drinking at a high school party. Definitely a thing Stiles wants to happen, now that he has the chance.

*

“Just how much money does Jackson _have_?” Stiles blurts out as soon as they pull up the driveway. The house is modern-looking and just _huge_. There are already lots of cars parked in front of the house, as well as on the street, and Stiles can hear loud music blaring inside.

“Trust me, you don’t want to know,” Danny, sweet, nice Danny answers Stiles’ question that was mostly rhetorical anyway. Stiles actually agrees with him, he doesn’t really want to know exactly how wealthy the Whittemores are because the answer is probably somewhere along the lines of _really disgustingly wealthy_.

When they step in, Stiles immediately feels something inside of him that he can’t quite name. It’s this feeling he gets from seeing all the faces turned towards them, taking in the looks people send Lydia’s, Danny’s and then _his_ way – it’s like he suddenly realizes, _I’m one of them now_. He follows Lydia silently, saying hi to Erica on the way. The stereo is blaring a Macklemore song and people are already dancing and jumping and sweating all over the place. Stiles looks up and sees that there’s an _actual DJ-stand with an actual DJ_ playing live music and – well, this isn’t what he imagined it would be like. It’s like the house party of house parties. This isn’t what he saw in American Pie. It’s like a club, there’s an actual dance floor thing going on in the living room and there’s a DJ and there are _lights_ —Stiles really likes it. He wouldn’t admit it to Jackson, or anyone for that matter, but he feels himself get sucked in immediately. It just looks like so much fun.

They arrive in the kitchen, having lost Danny somewhere on the way. Stiles is sure he’s fine though, probably already dancing with someone, being extremely popular and all. Is that what you do? Stiles saw lots of people standing in small groups, shouting over the music but lots of people were dancing as well. There are only a few people in the kitchen, but of course Jackson has to be one of them. Lydia greets him with a peck on the cheek.

“Hi Jackson,” Scott says with a dopey smile that tells Stiles he likes this place too. “You have a nice house.”

Jackson is probably used to suck-ups by now, but even he can’t be totally immune to Scott’s genuine puppy eyes and pure happiness just _radiating_ from him. That’s probably why his eyebrows shoot up towards his hairline, a surprised expression crossing his face before going back to its usual arrogant state. _I see you, Jackson. You can’t hide from Stiles, the Eagle Eye._

Stiles is so happy he didn’t say that out loud. He gets pulled back to reality when someone – Jackson – shoves a cup into his hand. Now, this red plastic cup is something he’s definitely seen in American Pie. He immediately recognizes the smell of beer (it’s not like he never had the stuff before, but only small sips that didn’t even get him dizzy). Stiles wants to say thank you but Jackson is already talking.

“Knock yourselves out,” He’s so annoying, God damn. “Just make sure you don’t throw up on anything besides each other.”

Still, he’s at a party and he’s got beer, and he feels nice right now. Even Jackson can’t ruin that.

*

Stiles is halfway into his fourth cup of beer when he finds Lydia again. He feels kind of dizzy, but nothing too bad. He finds himself giggling at things he wouldn’t usually cast a second glance at – for example, the weird-shaped cactus just outside the door or a couple sloppily making out on the staircase – but other than that, he’s fine. He isn’t stumbling or anything.

Just as he’s about to join the people on the dance floor, a hand grabs his wrist out of nowhere and starts pulling him towards a room that’s not the kitchen nor the living room but still looks like a living room, what is it? Hehe.

He recognized Lydia’s pretty black dress and then her voice shouting something he can’t make out over the music. He chugs down the rest of his beer, suppresses pulling a face at the bitter taste and follows Lydia into the not-living-room. It’s only when hands start pulling his shirt off that he thinks _what the fuck_ , and then it’s gone, and Lydia is pushing him down on a table.

“We’re doing body shots!” she shouts right next to Stiles’ ear, making him wince away.

“No need to screech, jeez,” he shouts back, covering his ear.

“What?” she asks and yeah, she’s drunk.

“I said—never mind.” Stiles watches as Lydia pulls two girls to stand in front of Stiles, laughing in a way that just screams she’s drunk, then pushes another two besides them and _whoa_. There are four very pretty girls staring at Stiles like they want to eat him up, and suddenly he feels self-conscious about his pale body and lack of abs. He knows he’s not that scrawny kid he used to be anymore, but he’s not exactly Derek either. Oh, Derek. Stiles wishes he was here. He would gladly take a shot from Derek’s body.

“Stay still!” Lydia shouts directly into his ear again and starts lining up shot glasses down his body. _This is crazy_ , Stiles thinks, and he leans his head back. Then there’s a body next to him on the table, Isaac’s body, to be exact, girls pulling at his shirt and cheering as it comes off. Their eyes meet as Isaac lies down next to him and he is laughing, making Stiles giggle again. If he knew he giggled this much with alcohol in his system, he wouldn’t have come here. It’s so embarrassing.

That’s not what the pretty girls think though, as it seems. They are all looking at him like he’s some gorgeous being, _which he isn’t_ , and Stiles thinks about how people see other people prettier when drunk. That must be the explanation – not that he really cares right now.

“Four, three, two, one,” he hears Kate shout and then all these girls are hovering over him, their hair tickling his body and they smell good. A bit like alcohol, but mostly just sweet perfume. The glasses are gone from his body, and he watches as Kate and Lydia down their shots they took from Isaac’s body and wow. Being a cheerleader is officially _awesome_. People all around them are cheering as the girls slam their glasses on the table next to Stiles’ body, wiping their lips and laughing drunkenly. Stiles sits up on the table but doesn’t get off. Isaac is pulled up to sit next to him, their knees touching as he sits up indian style.

Some girl hands them shots and they down them quickly. The liquid is burning Stiles’ throat and he feels the need to cough, but holds it back because he doesn’t want to seem lame. It makes breathing a little harder for a few seconds, but he figures he’ll live. The empty glasses are immediately replaced with new ones, and does Stiles really want to drink this much? He sees Isaac already drinking his, though, so he follows quickly. He can’t help but pull a face this time, but he’s seen so many people do that tonight it can’t be a lame thing. Maybe Stiles needs to not over think this kind of stuff.

He falls against Isaac’s bare shoulder, giggling again. The taller boy is grinning down at him and they laugh together again and it’s _nice_. Isn’t it? Yeah, it is. Isaac is comfy and warm and has really nice eyes and his lips are shiny from whatever they just drank.

“Oh my God, they are going to kiss!” comes a girl’s voice from somewhere around the table. Stiles didn’t actually think about kissing Isaac, but now that he heard it, it sounds like a brilliant idea. Stiles likes kissing. He doesn’t do it much – well, ever – but he does like it. Who doesn’t like kissing? Stiles certainly does. Kissing. Isaac. Kissing. Warm. Isn’t it so nice? He wants to kiss already.

The cat-calls and cheers register in his brain sooner than the warm lips pressed against his, but once he feels them, he doesn’t want it to end. He’s kissing Isaac, they are actually doing it, this is happening right now. There’s chaos around them, people cheering very, very loudly but Stiles can’t focus on that because Isaac’s tongue darts out, tasting his lips and it feels like it should never end. Then he opens his mouth and there’s actual, undeniable making out, open-mouthed and tasting of alcohol and it’s awesome. Isaac’s big hands are on him, one on his face and the other on his neck, and Stiles hangs onto him, holds onto both of Isaac’s biceps. Then the other boy huffs a laugh against his mouth and it’s over. Stiles is still high from the kiss – not his first, but definitely his best so far – but Lydia is already pulling him from the table.

“Oh my God!” she shouts, pulling Stiles’ shirt back over his head. “That was hot! I knew you were into guys!”

She laughs and Stiles laughs with her. As she starts pulling him out of the room, Stiles looks back and sees lots of faces staring at him, grinning and cheering. He doesn’t see Isaac, but he’s not going back for him, he’s got places to be. Isn’t this party just great?

They arrive on the dance floor when Stiles feels the drinks really hit him, but he’s having so much fun. He dances with Lydia for a while, singing along to songs he knows, and songs he hasn’t ever heard before in his life. Somewhere deep in the back of him mind he knows his dance moves are hideous, but he can’t bring himself to care. He’s having too much fun.

When he gets tired, he detaches his arm from Lydia’s grip, and stumbles out, navigating between the sweaty bodies grinding against each other. When he feels like he can breathe again, he decides on sitting down for a bit. As he looks around, he notices that ever single couch, stair step and chair is occupied, so he checks again, rubbing his eyes, and then heads out the front door.

He starts giggling again because Jackson’s house is a fucking miniature _hill_ , what the hell man, whose idea was this? It looks so fancy and elite. What is he doing here, anyway? Having fun, of course! The grass is so pretty, even the grass is rich here. Rich grass. Rich glass. Some cool glass would be awesome right now; he would press his face against it. He’s so hot. He starts fanning himself with his hands but realizes that it’s too much effort and drops them again.

“Having too much fun?” a familiar voice asks from above him.

“Derek!” Stiles exclaims happily because Derek is finally _here_. “Where’ve you been? Missed you,”

It sounds like such a smart thing to say. He really missed Derek, he feels like he should know. Stiles looks up at Derek, who is smiling down at him with a cup in his hand. Talking feels like such effort right now, so Stiles grabs Derek’s jeans and starts tugging on them. Derek gets the message and sits down next to him on the grass, laughing a little.

“I’ve been here the whole time; I guess we missed each other somehow.”

“I missed you,” Stiles states again, making Derek laugh. He wants to hear Derek laugh a lot more. It’s such a nice sound to hear and wow, Derek’s eyes are just _great_.

“I missed you too,” Derek says, and flashes his teeth at him. He’s just– he’s so _pretty_. God.

“No you didn’t,” Stiles says, elbowing Derek’s side, although he doesn’t know why. He doesn’t really mean it but it sounds like an answer so he blurts it out anyway.

“I brought your hoodie,” Derek says and oh yeah. The hoodie. He loves Derek so much for bringing it back to him.

“Bring back, bring back, oh bring back my hoodie to me, to me—” he starts singing and then breaks into a fit of giggles.

“You’re drunk. Come on, let’s get you inside.”

There are hands grabbing his shoulders, pulling him up; there’s an arm around his waist as he stumbles back into the house with Derek. This time he sees different faces, but the same expressions. It’s so funny that every time Derek or Lydia or anyone popular enters the house everyone just stills for a moment and stares at them. It’s like there’s a moment dedicated to them because they are flawless and they need flawless entrances. Stiles starts really laughing at that, and wonders why there’s no one else laughing because it’s _so funny_.

The next thing he knows he’s in a bed and hands are pulling down his shoes. He wants to fight whoever is robbing him, but the bed feels really, really nice and the pillow is just _so_ comfortable. It feels like his head sinks lower and lower into it, never stopping and it only gets more and more comfortable with every inch.

Then Derek’s face is in front of him and he’s obviously asleep already because he’s so pretty. Is Stiles dreaming? Does Derek only exist in his dreams? Is he awake? He blinks but it doesn’t feel like when he’s awake, but Derek is still gorgeous and he doesn't want this dream to end.

“Mmmstay,” he sighs and closes his eyes again. The last thing he feels is the mattress dipping down slightly with the weight of another body, and then he’s falling into a deep, dreamless sleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter turned out to be longer than I expected, so I cut it here. I hope you enjoy!  
> Unbeta'd, so any mistakes are my own.  
> You can find me on [ tumblr ](http://shuck-me.tumblr.com/) as well.  
> Also, I got a really cute and funny fanart from Curioandcollector, so if you're feeling sexy [ checkity check it out. ](http://archiveofourown.org/works/2103762)  
> Comments and opinions are appreciated, as always! :)


	5. An American Werewolf in London reference! Love it!

Stiles wakes up with what he knows is called a hangover. He’d never had one before, and was kind of curious about it. Now that he knows what it’s like, he wishes he could just die. Everything hurts. His head is throbbing, his throat is dry, his eyes are trying to jump out of his skull and he feels disoriented. He feels all this as he sits up in bed – he woke up seconds ago and it’s already unbearable. How do people who get drunk every weekend deal with these? Being drunk was fun, but nothing Stiles couldn’t live without. What he really could live without right now is this horrible feeling that’s taking over his body. He’s glad that the blinds on the window are shut, but he still feels like shit all over. His breath smells like something died in his mouth and was left there for the night.

And that’s when the nausea kicks in.

Now, Stiles isn’t someone who throws up easily, he can handle gory movies and the smell of blood and everything but this – this is something he never had to deal with before. He gets up somehow and stumbles towards a door which, thankfully, reveals a bathroom. He kneels in front of the toilet, bracing himself with two hands on either side of the seat, but nothing happens. He feels like shit, he feels like throwing up, he knows he would feel a bit better if he did, but he can’t. This is the moment Stiles decides that hangovers are the absolute _worst_ and alcohol is probably actually made from the _tears of Satan_.

He lays his head down on his arms, but then realizes he’s breathing toilet air, which is just – no. He has to get out of here. He wants to be home right now, he wants to take a shower and brush his teeth. He wants to lie down and never get up again.

He washes his face and hands, then checks himself in the mirror.

“I look like death,” is the only thing he manages to croak out. Stiles gulps down some tap water quickly and it feels like heaven. It only lasts for half a minute though, then the horrible taste is back and he starts to worry if it’s ever going to go away. When he gets back in the room, he sees Derek rubbing his eyes and face, sitting up in bed.

“Dude!” Stiles exclaims. “Were you here when I woke up?”

“I was here all night, Stiles. I had to make sure you didn’t choke on your own vomit or something.”

Derek’s deep, raspy morning voice is something Stiles stores in his head for later. Now he just wants to get rid of his hangover.

“I feel like shit,” he says, sitting down at the end of the bed, next to Derek’s legs.

“You look like it,” comes Derek’s answer immediately.

Stiles can see Derek’s smirk from the corner of his eyes and he cracks a weak smile as well. He runs a hand through his hair – it has something sticky in it, and Stiles doesn’t want to find out what it is – and stands up again. Then something else registers in his mind that has him groaning.

“I uh, I don’t have a ride.”

*

“Dude, your car is so nice. I could fall asleep in it right now.”

“Please don’t,” Derek says and parks the car. “Get out, we’re here.”

“Already?” Stiles asks, disappointed. He was so comfy there.

It soon turns out that _here_ is not Stiles’ house, but a little diner that seems nice and fairly clean. The light is getting more and more bearable by the minute, and by the time Stiles is inside, he actually feels hungry. It’s probably not the best thing to eat when all his body wants to do is throw up, but he couldn’t care less. He already suffered his way through the whole morning, so. Might as well. He ends up getting a burger with curly fries and devours the meal without saying a word.

When he’s full, it’s actually so much better. The headache and the dizziness is still there, but the nausea is gone, and so is the pain in his throat.

“That was so good,” he states and Derek gives an agreeing nod, even though he was only eating a salad. Stiles doesn’t get it, but hey. Whatever makes the dude happy.

“So, uh…”

“You kissed Isaac?” Derek blurts out and it’s so sudden Stiles almost spits out his soda. He coughs as quietly as he can manage and looks at Derek with his eyes wide open. And Derek – well, Derek looks nothing like Stiles has ever seen him look like before. He’s watching Stiles with a weary expression, like he’s not sure it’s an appropriate question, like he’s afraid of what Stiles will answer. He looks _uncertain_ , and that leaves Stiles with a baffled expression because that’s just so not Derek. At the same time Stiles also realizes that he might have just ruined any and every chance he had with this guy. Not that he believed he had any chance in the first place, but – it’s different now, somehow.

“I saw the video,” Derek admits, tearing his gaze away from Stiles.

“There’s a video?” That’s not cool. That’s so, so not cool. Who the hell got that on camera? Who would show Derek anyway? God, what if the whole school will know by Monday?

“You… you seemed to be into it,” Derek says quietly.

“Is this a ‘ _stay away from me, faggot_ ’ talk? Because if it is, you can save it. I got it.” Stiles answers bitterly. He feels hurt wash over him like it’s poisoning his mind, flowing in his veins, reaching his heart.

Derek just looks at him with a baffled expression, his mouth agape. Stiles is not sure, but he thinks he can see hurt flash for a moment in Derek’s eyes, too.

“What? No! Why would you think that? I just… I didn’t think you were gay, I guess. That’s all. I still want to hang out with you.”

And God, if that isn’t the most relieving sentence Stiles has ever heard. Of course Derek Hale would be the kind of guy who doesn’t care if you’re gay. God, he’s so nice. It’s fucking with Stiles’ head.

“I’m not even gay, I’m like… bisexual, or something,” Stiles mumbles and takes a big gulp of his soda. “And I’m not really into Isaac, we were drunk.”

Derek just nods as if to say _understood_. And just like that, it’s like everything is okay again. Except for the fact that Stiles is now sure that Derek will never be interested in him the same way Stiles is interested in Derek, but still. He’s such a great guy Stiles can’t help but feel happy to have him as a friend. Still, this isn’t how it goes in movies, Stiles thinks, but then realizes he’s not actually living in a movie, however weird that might sound. Maybe Derek really isn’t that complicated, maybe no one is besides Stiles. Because Stiles sure as hell is – he’s always doing and thinking about confusing shit, and it’s starting to get annoying.

Stiles feels like a schoolgirl with a crush when Derek pays for their food. It’s not manly, but it’s what he has to live with for now.

*

Just as Stiles is about to fall asleep in the very comfortable car seat, Derek, once again, announces that they are here, _here_ this time being Stiles’ house. It’s all fun and games until Stiles decides he doesn’t want to get out and Derek starts pulling on his arm, trying to get him moving. Hanging onto the headrest with his remaining arm like his life depends on it, Stiles starts screaming. The only problem is: Derek is a living, breathing wall of muscle. Soon enough Stiles’ legs are hanging out the car door, and he knows he can’t win, but he can try.

It’s only when his arm is pried off the headrest with force that he admits defeat. Derek tries to set him on his feet, but Stiles, being the responsible seventeen year old he is, collapses on the ground like jelly. He refuses to stand on his own legs. Because that’s obviously going to work. Duh.

“Stiles, do you want me to leave you here on the lawn?”

Stiles groans in protest. He does not want Derek to leave him on the lawn _or_ leave him, period.

It’s a nice day out, the Sun is shining, birds are chirping. It makes Stiles want to crawl into a hole and die. He can’t really decide what he wants, really. He should not be allowed to see other people or leave his room today.

“I’m coming,” he announces and picks himself off the ground. “You wanna come in?”

It takes a bit of convincing, but soon enough Derek is following him inside, which is something Stiles is glad for because of several reasons. One, he’s not alone, which is great for him. Probably not so great for poor Derek, what with having to deal with hungover Stiles and all, but he figures he’ll live. Two, his dad probably won’t kill him if he brings a potential witness with him.

“Hiii, Dad—” Stiles starts as soon as he walks into the kitchen, hanging onto Derek’s sleeve with one hand. “Look, I brought Derek!”

“Good morning, sir.” God, such nice manners. Stiles really should marry this guy, he decides.

The Sherriff looks like he’s having what you’d call a bad day, or maybe he’s just tired. Stiles hopes he’s just tired.

“Derek Hale?” he asks, not even glancing at Stiles, which is just _rude_ , what kind of father is he? The kind that sometimes wants a break from his hyperactive kid, Stiles gets it, he really does. He leaves to brush his teeth while Derek makes small talk with his dad, changes into a new set of clothes and turns the TV on in the living room. Jersey Shore is on, which is great, really. Extremely good stuff to get some sleep over. Stiles only closes his eyes for a moment, but the next thing he knows he’s falling asleep, no more paying attention to Snooki’s shrieking.

*

Stiles wakes up to a loud thud. He doesn’t know how much time passed while he was asleep, but Jersey Shore is over, that’s for sure. His dad is sitting next to him, looking apologetic, reaching for the TV remote he obviously just dropped.

“Sorry, kid,” he says in a soft voice. “I was about to wake you up anyway.”

“Where’s Derek?” is the first thing Stiles asks. He knows Derek has a life, a family and a home of his own, but still. He was there when Stiles woke up this morning; he should be there always when he wakes up. Derek is a nice thing to wake up to, Stiles thinks.

He also thinks _I’m fucked_.

Why does it have to be Derek, of all people? He never had these thoughts about Lydia. He would have, maybe, but Lydia never gave him the chance to wake up to see her face while he was head over heels for her. God, he’s getting so caught up on Derek. He’s never been quite so obsessed with a crush before. Is this a proper crush anyway? It was so sudden, so unexpected that he still hasn’t processed it. What is happening with him? Why can’t he just get over this godly-looking dude and go back to his normal, boring life?

*

“Guess what!” Scott booms in Stiles’ ear as soon as he sits down next to him in the cafeteria.

“What,” Stiles asks in a deadpan voice.

“We’re playing the first game of the season on Friday! Are you going to come?” Scott asks with the excitement and the eyes of a six week old puppy. Stiles looks at him incredulously.

“Dude, I’m a cheerleader. It’s practically my job to be there.”

Scott’s face lights up as he finally gets it that yes, Stiles is indeed a cheerleader, and of course he is going to be at the football game. He’s not working hard on getting the routine right for nothing.

He wants to laugh at Scott because really, he’s such a clueless child sometimes. He’s also very adorable and Stiles’ best friend, so he doesn’t make fun of him in the end. There are popular kids surrounding them and Stiles isn’t going to do that to Scott while everyone is watching. It occurs to Stiles suddenly that they are becoming one of them right now as they sit there, just by being accepted into their group. It’s such a weird thing to think of, but a month ago Stiles would’ve given anything to be able to hear their conversations and just be one of them. It’s crazy how things can change in such a short amount of time.

After that, the conversation takes a turn towards horror movies and crazy ghost stories that supposedly happened to them, and they don’t bring up the game again. Stiles is grateful for that, because he can’t seem to stop stressing over it.

*

“Stiles, I want to start working on your splits.”

That sentence is probably the worst thing to ever leave Braeden’s mouth, if you ask Stiles. He doesn’t know how to do the splits, never even attempted to do one, and however quick he might be learning, this is something that’s very new and scary to him. He’s seen the girls do it and it’s just – _no_. He can’t possibly do that.

“My… my splits.” he says right back at her dumbly. She just nods her head like it’s the best news ever.

“Yes! Aren’t you excited?”

“Yeah, I am… totally.” Stiles is not sure it’s excitement he feels. Try something like agitation.

“Come on, it’ll be fun!” Kate Argent informs him and grabs his wrist, leading him towards the side of the gym.

It turns out minutes later that it’s a fucking nightmare.

Stiles is literally _hanging_ , feeling like he’s being split in half very slowly and painfully. Isaac and Braeden are holding him up by his arms, which are extended towards the ceiling. His legs are touching the ground, but he wishes they weren’t. He has nothing to hold onto, so he balls his hands up in fists and digs his nails into his palms. Gravity is working him lower and lower, his feet are sliding further and further apart, inch by inch and it feels like he’s being torn in half. It’s such a fucking nightmare. Stiles grits his teeth and takes it, because that’s the only thing he knows how to do, but he still prays to whatever God is listening for it to be over.

Isaac hovering over him and talking about Saturday probably doesn’t help either. Couldn’t he find a better place and time to do this?

“I just wanted to ask you about Saturday… are we cool? I mean, I didn’t mean anything by… you know,” he says awkwardly, and yeah, Stiles knows. He just has better things to concentrate on right now, like the fiery pain burning inside of him. He doesn’t even care Braeden is listening, he just really doesn’t want to talk to anyone right now, so he gets out what he can in one breath.

“Isaac, we’re totally cool, we’re fine, don’t worry. I kind of have my eyes set on someone and don’t get me wrong, you’re good-looking, I mean anyone with eyes knows that but I’m not interested? That sounds so lame—” That’s about as far as he gets before having to whimper in pain again. He gasps and tries to relieve some of the pain in his lower body, without success. Braeden is laughing under her breath while Isaac gets out an uncertain reply, but Stiles is no longer listening. He just wants this torture to be over.

It goes on for minutes, but it feels like hours. Stiles is sweating, his face contorted with pain. When it’s finally over, he collapses on the ground and curls in on himself, whimpering pathetically.

“You did well, Stiles,” Braeden says, hovering over him. “I think we can work you into a proper split in weeks. Trust me; it gets better as we do it more times and for longer. I’ll leave you alone for today, but other than that, I want to do this three to five times a week, once or twice a day. You’ll get into it pretty easily.”

Upon hearing those words, Stiles shoots a look of disbelief towards his coach. She really wants to put him through all this almost every day? What the hell is wrong with her? Stiles needs a week’s sleep and a body-shaped ice pack after all the pain he’s just experienced.

*

The week is a blur of studying, pain, and missing Derek. They still text back and forth like crazy, but Stiles hasn’t seen him all week, and he misses him. He misses the adorable bunny teeth, and the muscles, and the heartfelt laughter. He also misses talking to Derek, hearing what he has to say about things. Anything, really. If Derek has an opinion on something, Stiles is more than happy to listen to it. He wants to hear all of it. He wants to have debates and talk about deep stuff and just discuss anything and everything with Derek.

He might be a little in too deep, but as long as Derek doesn’t find out, he’ll be fine. Speaking of Derek, the dude keeps texting him random facts he hears on TV, because apparently watching National Geographic together is something his family does all the time. Derek tells him it’s more of a background noise while they talk, which is nice, but Stiles still thinks it’s weird.

_Did you know that wolves can smell another animal from a mile away?_

This isn’t what Stiles imagined his Wednesday night to be like, but it’s nice somehow. He’s sitting in his bed by himself, but texting Derek is almost like being with him. It makes Stiles feel less alone.

_thats crazy, I want to be a wolf_

In the past hour, he learned about the mating habits of flies, the way penguins choose their significant other and the life span of a jellyfish. It’s almost like being in school, only way cooler. Stiles opens Candy Crush Saga out of boredom when his phone starts beeping. He puts it on silent, then reads the message from Derek.

_Like a werewolf?_

Not what Stiles was thinking, but he could get behind that. Turning into a hairy, bloodthirsty creature once a month could be kind of cool. It’s always the classic stories he likes to believe – let it be vampires, werewolves, fairies, anything. He wants none of that undercover sequin skirt vampire fairytale bullshit. He wants Dracula, he wants An American Werewolf in London. He likes the classics.

_yeah, like a really cool classic werewolf tho. id be david and youd be jack_

He gets an answer almost immediately.

_…No thank you. Do you want to come over tomorrow?_

He can’t help but break out in a huge grin. When will his heart ever get used to Derek inviting him over? Never, the answer is never.

_ofc. meet u after practice?_

Tomorrow is Thursday, which means they will probably run into each other in the locker room anyway. On Mondays and Thursdays, cheer and football practice end at around the same time, Stiles noticed. Those are the days he’s either very quick with his shower, escaping before anyone on the football team has a chance to get in next to him, or the days he’s talking to Scott after practice, waiting for everyone to pile out, and then taking a shower. Either way is lame and embarrassing, but he just doesn’t feel comfortable. Not with his own naked body, and not with other naked bodies surrounding him. It’s something he still has to work on, but at least he can look them in the eyes now. Sometimes they even make small talk with him, especially now that he hangs out with Derek more. Stiles is still kind of surprised no one is making fun of him for being a cheerleader, but it feels kind of reassuring too.

_Okay._

Really, Derek? That’s all you have to say? When his phone doesn’t buzz for another five minutes, Stiles decides it’s time for him to go to sleep. It’s getting late, and he has homework to do, but he figures it can wait another day. He’s just getting comfortable, fluffing up his pillow and sticking the comforter between his legs when he gets another text.

_Did you know an average size wolf produces roughly 1.2 cubic inches of sperm?_

Stiles laughs out so loud his father can probably hear it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, I just wanted to say I'm sorry for taking so long! I hope you still enjoy this chapter. Stiles finally talks to Derek about stuff! Important stuff! Wooo!  
> Comments and opinions are welcome, as always. :)  
> Unbeta'd, so any mistakes are my own.  
> 


	6. I don't know how it works, bro, talk to tech-support

From then on, Stiles kind of just ends up spending most of his free time with Derek. He doesn’t even realize it’s happening, really; he just knows that Scott nowadays is either busy with football practice, which is fine, or busy with Allison, which is also totally fine. Stiles is happy that he finally grew a pair and asked Allison out and it really is nice to see them make heart eyes at each other all day every day, it’s just – he gets bored pretty easily, and now that Scott is always somewhere _else_ , he’s more aware of that than he ever was.

So it really isn’t a surprise when he ends up at Derek’s, since the older boy seems to like him enough to hang out with him. After a pretty exhausting day of practicing some groundwork, Derek invites him over and Stiles follows him home, and they write homework and play FIFA, and it’s really nice. It’s so nice it keeps happening again and again, and it’s probably around two weeks into this routine of theirs that his dad and his friends start mocking him about it. The Sherriff keeps asking about Derek and tries to convince Stiles to invite him over for dinner, since he’s hanging out at the Hale’s so much. Lydia keeps referring to Derek as his “boyfriend”, strictly when he’s not around of course. Kate Argent spends the majority of cheer practice glaring at Stiles and accidentally tripping him a couple of times as well, just to get her point across. Stiles notices how Kate’s eyes shift when he talks to Allison about hanging out with Derek and he notices that Kate talks about him a _lot_ , too. It’s always little things, something along the lines of “ _While I was talking to Derek…_ ” or “ _Derek told me the other day…_ ”, somehow always slipping his name into conversations while glaring at Stiles.

It’s starting to become a bit scary, if he’s being honest.

And the saddest thing is, Stiles thinks, that he isn’t even afraid of Kate Argent; he’s just _jealous_ and it’s driving him insane. Every time he looks at her he can’t help but think of how well she and Derek would go together, star quarterback and head cheerleader and all that cliché stuff. He can’t help but think that Kate is exactly the kind of girl any footballer would go after. Stiles doesn’t have shiny blonde hair and manicured nails, he doesn’t have nice curves and tanned skin. Kate has all that because she’s a girl, and a pretty one at that. Derek probably likes pretty girls, and Stiles isn’t a pretty girl, and Kate is. The whole thing scares him – hell, his _own jealousy_ is scaring the shit out of him.

“Do you like Kate?” Stiles asks one afternoon. They are halfway into autumn by then, so he’s sitting on Derek’s bed wrapped in his duvet, because Derek always keeps his windows open. Right now he’s sitting next to Stiles in a single white tee, reading an issue of Batman. The only only thing keeping Stiles from freezing to death right now is the warm blanket wrapped around his body, but he can’t complain. So what if Stiles likes Derek’s scent surrounding him. So what.

Derek lifts his head from the comic book and kind of just stares at Stiles for a couple of seconds with a confused expression. Stiles wonders if he crossed the line with that. What if Derek doesn’t consider him a good friend, or at least not good enough to share these kinds of things with him? What if he just fucked this whole thing up? That doesn’t end up being the case, of course.

“Kate Argent?” Derek asks, and Stiles nods. “I don’t know. I mean I don’t have anything against her, but I don’t really know her, so,”

“What do you mean? I thought you two talked a lot,” Stiles says before he can stop himself.

The thing is, Derek doesn’t know that Stiles wants to put his hands all over him and kiss him until they can’t breathe, at least Stiles doesn’t think he knows, but one of these days he’s going to give himself away with these stupid jealous comments he makes.

“We talk sometimes but not much,” Derek says with a shrug. “It’s usually just small talk.”

“But like, do you think she’s pretty?” Stiles pushes further, and wants to slap himself when he sees Derek frown.

“I—she’s pretty I guess. Why are we talking about this?” Derek asks, looking a bit uncomfortable with the topic. “Please don’t tell me you want to ask her out.”

“What? No!” Stiles exclaims. “I just thought – well, she talks about you a lot and I thought maybe you two have something going on.”

Stiles is tempted to take a picture of Derek’s expression because it’s hilarious, but he’s more interested in Derek’s answer – however, it just doesn’t come. They sit there in silence for minutes, and it’s the kind of peaceful silence that you don’t really want to break. Derek is looking at him like he’s trying to figure something out, his eyes never leaving Stiles’ face. Stiles feels his face heating up under the gorgeous boys’ gaze, but he can’t bring himself to look away. It’s weirdly intimate, and even though it lasts for minutes, it still feels like it’s over too soon. When Derek averts his gaze and speaks up, Stiles actually feels disappointed.

“I kind of like someone else,” he finally says, keeping his eyes fixed on the comic book that he’s still holding. Then he looks up at Stiles and flashes a perfect smile. “Besides, I’m not really into girls like Kate.”

Stiles smiles back at him, ignoring the tight feeling Derek’s words leave in his chest. They leave it at that, and Stiles is glad for that at the moment. When he gets home he realizes that even though he should feel relieved, all he feels is tired, shitty and a bit hungry. He ignores the first two and makes himself a sandwich.

*

A week later, he’s sitting across from Lydia in a neat little café they’ve never been to before. It’s just the two of them, because Allison is with Scott ( _I_ _think he’s going to ask me to be his girlfriend_ , Allison told them at practice), and it’s peaceful. Stiles considers Allison a pretty good friend, but he’s closer to Lydia than any of the girls. He honestly can’t remember what his life was like before the strawberry blonde bombshell turned it upside down.

“Have you decided on your Halloween costume yet?” Lydia asks after their drinks arrive.

“I don’t really have any good ideas.” Stiles answers. He’s always very excited about Halloween, it’s the best part of the year and it’s his favorite holiday, and this year it’s gonna be even better because he’s actually invited to Lydia’s Halloween party. Stiles can already tell it’s going to be awesome, but he needs an awesome costume first. “What are you going to be?”

“Cersei Lannister, of course. I was going to make Jackson dress up with me but he had some pretty good ideas so I’m letting this one slide.” Lydia says with a smile. She drops the small cookie from her plate into her coffee, and then fishes it out with her spoon. Popping it into her mouth, she eyes Stiles up and down and then makes an excited sound, her eyes widening comically. Stiles looks at her questioningly and her expression changes into something mischievous. She lifts an eyebrow and cocks her head to the side, a small smirk playing on her lips. It’s frightening, is what it is.

“I might have just found you the best costume ever.”

Stiles doesn’t really think about it then. He knows by now that if Lydia wants to tell him, she’ll tell him. She probably wants to dress him up as a character from Game of Thrones or something – he wonders if he’d make a good king. He likes to think he has the potential. The point is, he gets distracted pretty soon, not even asking Lydia about this genius idea of hers; of course it turns out later that he made a big mistake by leaving it at that, but that’s just his life.

*

That’s how Stiles ends up at Lydia’s house hours before the party starts, sitting in his underwear, about to be turned into a cheerleader. A female one.

He doesn’t know why he agreed to this in the first place, he doesn’t know why he’s letting Erica and Lydia do this. Everyone is going to be here, and they are going to see him, and there is going to be alcohol involved, and it’s scary but kind of _exciting_ at the same time.

The girls are already dressed up; Lydia as Cersei Lannister, beautiful as ever; Erica dressed in colorful clothes, her face painted to resemble a Mexican candy skull.

“Do you want boobs?” Lydia asks him and how has this become his life?

“You’re turning me into a girl, I’m gonna have to have boobs.”

“Good because I was going to make you wear them anyway,” Lydia says with a smile, and throws a brand new pair of _fake boobs_ at him. Stiles was thinking about something much more simpler, like stuffing a bra with socks but really, he should’ve known better. Lydia is such a maximalist. She’s actually going to turn Stiles into a cheerleader, a proper girl cheerleader with boobs and long hair. Stiles is not willing to admit it to himself but he’s enjoying the idea of walking around in a cheerleader uniform and a wig way too much. He opens the package and takes out the two very booby-looking things and slaps them onto his chest. Apart from the plastic texture of it, it really does feel like he’s gripping _his own boobs_ , God, he’s going to hell.

“Are you sure this is a good idea?” He asks them, but he knows it’s too late to back out now. Everyone’s already talking about his kiss with Isaac and his friendship with Derek, why not throw cross-dressing into the mix? He’s making a name for himself at an alarming rate, that’s for sure.

“Okay, so makeup. I was thinking about some nice girly colors, something really innocent—” Lydia starts, but Erica cuts her off almost immediately.

“No, no, no! Let’s make it slutty!” The enthusiasm in her voice makes Stiles a bit worried. “ _Please_ Lydia? Imagine him with smoky eyes and red lipstick, God.”

“No red lipstick,” Stiles chimes in. “I don’t even like that on girls.”

“Well, we’re still turning you into a slut.”

Stiles groans and puts his head in his hands. What has he gotten himself into?

*

They don’t let him near a mirror until his makeup is perfectly done – which takes longer than he would’ve imagined because both of them are pretty good at it. Still, it’s worth the wait because when they finally give him a compact mirror he kind of just stares at himself in awe. It’s like he’s not himself – he’s never done anything like this before, never even thought about it. It’s like he’s looking at someone else’s face, like he has a twin sister or something. His eyes look so girly with makeup on them, and it looks so professional, the black eye shadow fading out and up into a grayish color (something he knows is called a “smoky eye look”). The fake eyelashes are feeling a bit weird but they look _awesome_. His cheekbones are a shimmery pink color that he sometimes sees Lydia wear. The only thing he doesn’t like – however weird that sounds, considering he has a face full of makeup – is the lip gloss. It’s gross and tacky and it feels weird, but it makes his lips look all girly, so he’ll just have to deal with it.

All in all he actually looks like a girl and it’s fucking with his head.

“Whoa,” is the only thing he manages to say before he feels something _warm_ over his left leg. He looks down just in time to see Erica grip the corner of what looks like a piece of paper on his leg between her fingers and then—pain. So much pain.

“What the fuck!” Stiles shouts and proceeds to bite down on his fist because shit, fuck, _ow_.

“Stop screaming! You can’t be a girl with these hairy legs!”

Stiles honestly wants to cry.

*

“It’s so smooth.”

Stiles is sitting on the floor now, stroking his arms and legs. He keeps repeating that sentence like some kind of mantra, exhausted from all the pain he’d been exposed to in the past half hour. Since the uniform he’s wearing (one of Lydia’s) shows his stomach they waxed that too, despite all of Stiles’ protests and it _hurts_. Erica chucks a pair of white Ked shoes at him, telling him to put them on.

“How did you know my size?” Stiles asks when he realizes that they fit perfectly.

“I have my ways,” comes the answer and really, Stiles has to give more credit to the girls because what the hell?

Then Lydia takes out a long black wig which looks nothing like the ones you usually get for Halloween, but more like actual hair. For a moment, Stiles wonders how much money Lydia spent on this, but he quickly decides he’d rather not know.

She makes him put on a “wig cap” which is a skin-colored piece of material that helps keeping his hair down and the wig on. Once it’s on his head, the girls put the long, straight wig on, positioning it on his head so it fits. It’s actually kind of uncomfortable even after a few moments, but Stiles figures it’ll be worth it. He took the waxing and the makeup like a champ, there is no way he’s going to fuss about the hair. Besides, it makes him look…

It makes him look like an actual girl. Now, don’t get him wrong, Stiles knows he’s scrawny and he knows he’d look much better with some muscle on him, but right now he’s kind of thankful for his skinny arms and legs. This is a life-changing moment, he thinks as the realization hits him that he’s hotter as a girl than as a boy. Now _that’s_ fucked up.

“Wow,” he says when he stands in front of Lydia’s mirror. “I’m hot!”

The boobs help a lot, but he could actually pass as a girl, he thinks. Smooth legs, long, black hair and a pretty face. He’s so caught up in the result of his makeover that he forgets to be nervous about people seeing him like this. Perhaps they won’t even recognize him. He just looks too girly.

He sees Erica and Lydia high-fiving each other from the corner of his eye. They look so happy with the result, and if Stiles thinks about it he’s happy too. He’s happy that he made such amazing friends who’ll willingly turn him into a girl on Halloween, invite him over to their houses and take him out shopping (even though Stiles isn’t usually shopping, he just loves hanging out with them while they do).

“I’m snapchatting this,” Erica says and shoots a picture of Stiles. He must have a ridiculous expression on the photo, but right now he’s more concerned about what he’s about to do.

Stiles’ eyes go wide. “To who?” he asks loudly but gets no answer.

“Are you ready to go down?” Lydia asks him.

“But there aren’t any people down there yet,” Stiles answers but then again, how would he know? He’s been sitting in Lydia’s room for the past four hours or so. “Are there any people down there?”

“A few.”

“Oh my God.”

“Stiles, don’t freak out now. You look so good!” Erica says and grips his arm, navigating him towards the door.

“Oh my God,” Stiles repeats. “Okay. I’m doing this. I’m totally doing this.”

The girls cheer and Erica runs down the stairs, gathering people from around the room. Stiles steps onto the first step and already sees Jackson and Danny, dressed as zombies, stop at the end of the staircase, followed by Scott and Allison – officially a couple now – who are dressed as Hansel and Gretel. They are all looking at him and he Stiles can pinpoint the exact moment of realization on each and every one of their faces; all he wants to do is crawl back into the room and stay there for the entire night, but he knows it’s too late. The damage has been done. Whatever happens – happens.

It’s dead silence. And then…

“Who’s that?” Scott asks, looking absolutely lost.

Even Stiles doubles over with laughter at that. He already loves this; the look on Scott’s face is priceless when Allison tells him who it really is.

“Oh my God, no, I see it now! Can’t unsee!” Scott’s pained shouts make them all laugh even harder.

“Stilinski, you look hilarious,” Jackson says, wiping his eyes. Stiles guesses it’s not the best kind of _hilarious_ , but it’s definitely not the worst from Jackson.

When Stiles reaches the end of the staircase, he’s immediately nose-to-nose with Danny, the boy studying him with a wondering expression.

“Did you do this, Lydia?” he asks. “He looks _amazing_!”

The girl smirks. “Me and Erica,” she tells Danny, high-fiving the blonde girl.

As they all take pictures, laugh and joke about their costumes – and especially Stiles’ costume – more and more people start arriving. Lydia wanders off to meet guests; Danny starts a one-man dance floor that soon evolves into a proper dance floor as the music gets louder and more and more people join him; Isaac arrives and stares at Stiles with a puzzled expression before grabbing his waist and lifting him up, laughing loud and crushing him in a hug. The music is good, the decorations are awesome and spooky (Stiles knows there’s a skeleton in the upstairs bathroom that jumps out at random times that he promises to himself not to forget about so he doesn’t get scared shitless), the people are wild and there are so many good costumes, too. Stiles walks around like a girl, waving the pompoms he snatched from the bedroom around, making people chant dumb things and doing the team choreography to every single song that comes on. The people who recognize him find it hilarious – everyone is taking pictures with the cheerleader dude and every drunken person wants to learn some moves from him. He is happy to oblige.

Stiles is having so much fun, and he hasn’t even had alcohol yet. He somehow ends up dancing with Lydia and _Kate Argent_ and she doesn’t look like she wants to kill him, for once. Maybe it has something to do with him being a girl. Maybe Kate loathes men in general, except for Derek, but come on, who could actually hate Derek? No one, that’s who.

Then it all goes to hell in a matter of seconds. They are maybe an hour into the party when a slightly drunk guy who Stiles has never seen before comes up behind him and actually _pinches_ his ass.

“What do we have here,” he slurs, holding onto Stiles’ waist with one hand, his other still on Stiles’ ass.

Stiles is so shocked he actually can’t speak; who does this guy think he _is_? His respect towards girls grows a lot suddenly because he’s been a girl for an hour and a stranger is already harassing him. He promises himself to always help out girls he sees get hit on by unwanted guys from now on because it sucks.

He tries to get the guy off of him, but he’s all heavy muscles and long limbs, latching onto Stiles like a parasite. His breath smells of alcohol and his hand is on Stiles’ thigh now, trying to sneak under his skirt. He’s taller than Stiles, he’s bigger and stronger and he’s whispering all kinds of disgusting things into his ear and it’s nothing but plain scary. No matter how hard he tries, he can’t get away from him. Somewhere deep in his mind he knows he can’t exactly get raped on a dance floor with all these other people around them, but his brain doesn’t seem to care about reasoning right now. It’s terrifying and he wants it to be over, he doesn’t care if the guy drops dead _right fucking now_.

As if on cue, a loud “Hey!” booms in his ear and moments later a fist arrives from nowhere. The guy’s hands are gone and right now that’s all Stiles cares about. He sees people staring at him as he tries to calm down but he just can’t. He knows how a panic attack feels and this isn’t it – he’s still scared out of his mind though. Not even for himself, but for girls all over the world looking pretty and having fun in clubs. All of his party spirit is gone by now. He just wants to go home, really.

Danny and Jackson appear from nowhere and they make a scene of throwing the guy out, yelling things and letting everyone in the room know how much of an asshole he is. They come back looking triumphant and Stiles honestly loves them right now. Even Jackson.

The person he’s most grateful for though is the one who landed the punch, saving him from the stranger. He turns around and–

Derek is staring back at him. However, he doesn’t demand to know if Stiles is okay like Danny and Jackson are doing, he just kind of stares at him some more and then there’s the same look of recognition on his face as he realizes that he didn’t save a girl, he saved a boy, he saved _Stiles_. People are returning to each other seeing that the show is over; Stiles tells Danny for the sixth time he’s okay, his eyes never leaving Derek’s. It’s okay now. Derek is here, and he saved Stiles, and he’s so grateful, and Stiles _loves_ him.

Before that thought can properly freak him out, Derek looks him over breaks out in hysterical laughter. Stiles rolls his eyes because _really_? Out of all the people to fall for, he had to choose this dork.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey there! I know I haven't updated in a while, but I was very busy tyring to balance school, work, studying and sleeping (unsuccesfully). I just have a lot to do and I'm honestly sorry for not updating in so long.  
> HOWEVER. You can expect chapters more often from now on, since I have a bit more time now that I've settled into the routine. I hope you still love me hahahha haha hahaha pease don't leave me  
> Comments, as always, are appreciated.  
> 


	7. We are crashing, we, we are crashing

Derek takes Stiles to a room upstairs. It’s obvious that he’s been to Lydia’s house before – he moves like he knows exactly where he’s going. When they reach the room at the end of the corridor, Derek guides Stiles in with a hand on his elbow. It’s a gentle touch, barely there but caring. Stiles notices these little things and he loves them more than anything Derek could ever do or say in their current situation. It makes him feel safe to have someone like Derek looking out for him. It makes him feel wanted.

He sits down on the single bed that’s pushed up to the wall while Derek opens the window. The fresh air that hits him is cold and it helps him clear his mind a bit. Goosebumps break out on his bare arms and legs and he shivers, but it still feels nice after the sweaty-hot dance floor. He feels the mattress dip beside him and turns to face Derek. They sit there in silence for a while. Derek opens his mouth several times, but then closes it again like he doesn’t know what he should tell Stiles. He ends up saying,

“I’m sorry that happened to you.”

Stiles lets out a breath he didn’t realize he was holding in; he wraps his arms around his middle because he’s really getting cold now. Derek seems to notice this and he shrugs off his football jacket (really, Derek? Dressing up as a footballer for Halloween?), holding it out for Stiles to take. The younger boy accepts it with a thankful smile and tries not to think about how ridiculous this is. He’s literally dressed as a girl cheerleader with the football jacket hanging on him, hiding his body as it’s much smaller than Derek’s. He feels like he’s in a 90’s teen movie.

“You don’t have to be sorry, I’m not even– it’s not even that big of a deal for me because it’s over now, but. Just. The girls, you know?” Stiles says, trying to voice his thoughts as best as he can. “Every night, things like this happen to girls all over the world. I’ll never have to dress like this again but they’re girls forever. I just feel really bad that these assholes harass them.”

When he looks up Derek is looking at him with this unique expression that’s pained but at the same time filled with adoration. Stiles isn’t sure that he can take Derek looking at him like that, so he averts his gaze, worrying his bottom lip between his teeth. The next thing he feels is a big, warm hand resting on his own; Derek rubbing his thumb in soothing circles on Stiles’ forehand. The touch is as relaxing as it is exciting – it’s not something that’s happened before. It feels private and intimate and Stiles doesn’t want to let go of this moment. He turns his hand up so he can entwine his fingers with Derek’s bigger ones.

“I know what you mean.” is all Derek answers. Stiles kind of waits for him to say something else, but nothing comes. They sit in comfortable silence, both lost in their own minds, holding hands like it’s the most natural thing in the world. After what feels like at least ten minutes of silence, Derek shifts beside him, turning slightly so he faces Stiles more.

“Can I try something?” he asks, sounding nervous, his eyes unsure. Stiles would be lying if he said the question doesn’t make his heart flutter. He swallows and nods, not really trusting his voice. Derek looks so young in the dim light coming in through the window, his eyes wide, his expression wondering. Stiles thinks he’s beautiful.

Then Derek squeezes his hand lightly and moves forward, and even though he moves slowly Stiles’ mind can’t exactly process what’s happening until Derek’s lips touch his own. Time stops for a long moment, neither of them moving, silence surrounding them; then the moment is gone as Stiles blows out all of his air through his nose, and Derek moves his hand to cup the younger boy’s face gently, while the one holding Stiles’ hand slowly moves up his arm, taking hold of his bicep. It’s such a soft kiss – warm and safe, their closed mouths barely moving against each other. Stiles suddenly becomes hyper aware of his surroundings, he doesn’t know what to do with his hands, doesn’t know if he should touch Derek, isn’t sure if he’s _allowed_ to. Still, it feels amazing; being kissed by his crush so gently and caringly, like it’s the only thing that matters in the world. It’s a dry kiss since their mouths are closed, but Stiles can feel a tiny bit of wetness against his upper lip where it’s fitted between Derek’s own ones. It’s such a little thing but it makes him want to push forward into the kiss, into Derek, makes him want to open his mouth and feel Derek’s tongue against his own.

It’s over all too soon. Derek moves back, but doesn’t take his hands from Stiles’ face or arm. Stiles opens his eyes and licks his lips unconsciously. He’s sure his face is flushed, he can feel it getting warmer but most importantly, he's confused.

“I’m sorry if I freaked you out,” Derek starts to say, and he would probably continue if it wasn’t for Stiles interrupting him.

“You didn’t, no, it was… it felt nice.” Stiles can see relief in Derek’s eyes and really, how isn’t he the one having a mini mental breakdown here? He just got kissed by Derek Hale. Maybe it’s because the older boy had indicated it – it gave Stiles the feeling that he wanted to kiss him, that it was his own choice. That’s not how Stiles thought a kiss with Derek would go; he genuinely thought Derek would be freaked out and would probably not want to see him again. Not this. This gentle, unsure Derek was very new and it made Stiles’ breath hitch and his heart beat faster. Maybe he _was_ wanted.

“You’re beautiful.” Derek whispers, his face still close, his hand still warm on Stiles’ jaw. And honestly, he sounds so quiet and gentle it makes Stiles want to cry. It’s such a fragile moment Stiles is afraid it will shatter to pieces if he so much as dares to move.

They kiss again, urgent, open-mouthed kisses this time, Stiles’ hands coming up to grip desperately at Derek’s shoulders. When their tongues brush together for the briefest of moments Stiles lets out an embarrassing, high-pitched whimper. The small sound makes Derek deepen the kiss, slowing it down, kissing Stiles passionately and thoroughly. Their faces are flushed and their hands are holding onto each other tight, taking deep breaths through their noses and panting into each other’s mouth when they change the angle of the kiss. It’s a heavenly sensation and Stiles really doesn’t want it to end. It’s nothing like Isaac’s kiss, nothing like anything he’s ever experienced before. His head is overflowing with thoughts, but at the same time it’s all just _DerekDerekDerekDerek_.

Still, when he hears the door opening, he stops abruptly. His back is facing the door so he twists his neck until he can see who it is, but the only thing he sees is the person closing the door, mumbling what’s probably an apology. He asks Derek who it was and he says he didn’t see, and that’s it.

“Can I ask you something?” he asks. The older boy nods. “When you said I was beautiful… I mean… Do you only find me beautiful as a girl, or…?” God, it sounds so dumb but he has to ask. He just needs to know. What if this is all because he looks attractive as a girl?

“Stiles, of course not. You’re always beautiful. Even more so when you aren’t covered in makeup, but …” he says, stroking Stiles’ arm with his large hand. “I like this boy and I kissed him, and he happened to be dressed up as a girl at the time… But I still saw him as the boy I like. I just saw my chance and I took it. Okay?”

Stiles can’t help the giggles bubbling up from his chest, however embarrassing they might be. He’s just exhausted and feels drained and he’s so damn _happy_. He doesn’t even know what kind of feeling this is, really. It’s certainly a happy feeling, although he can’t quite put his finger on it.

Derek gives him his shirt for the night and Stiles politely looks away when he takes it off; even though he’d seen the godly abs before, he’d like to make it through without getting a boner. He goes in the bathroom and takes the wig off, washes off his makeup, undresses. The shirt smells like Derek, faintly of his cologne but mostly of his familiar natural scent that Stiles has grown to love. It’s huge on him, almost reaches the end of his boxer briefs. No matter how tall he got over the summer, Derek is still taller. When he goes back into the room, he gets under the covers quickly. Derek is standing at the door, and for a moment Stiles thinks he’s going to leave, but he only turns the key in the lock and then gets under the covers too, his strong arm immediately pulling Stiles down so they’re both lying on their sides, facing each other in the small bed.

They kiss for a while and it’s comfortable; it doesn’t get too heated, it’s just nice and warm and comforting. Stiles feels safe, and he doesn’t want to question anything, doesn’t want to think about tomorrow. Everything is as it should be, he thinks as he kisses Derek’s mouth one last time before falling asleep.

*

Stiles doesn’t really know what he expects the next morning, but he feels a pang in his chest when he wakes up to find that Derek is gone. He checks his phone, and it’s really early, only 6:07, but Derek has already left. At least he closed the window so Stiles didn’t freeze to death in his sleep in just a shirt – a shirt that belongs to Derek and smells like him, too. It must be expensive because it’s this amazingly soft texture that hugs his body without smothering him, even though it’s twisted all around his middle, like he was trashing around in his sleep. Maybe that’s why Derek left.

Stiles thinks about how the other boy seems to find him in the most embarrassing situations, like when he’s drunk off his ass or when he’s being groped by some stranger at a party. He wonders what Derek thinks of him, now that they’ve spent so much time together. He thinks about how no matter how much time they spend together, Derek still manages to remain a mystery and confuse the hell out of him. He thinks about the way Derek said he liked him, how he called him beautiful. Stiles hopes he was being honest, because he gets this really happy feeling that kind of scares him when he thinks about the older boy’s words.

Stiles stumbles out of the room without any pants on and tries to locate Lydia’s room – the room he’d left said pants in. When he finds it he quickly sneaks in, thankful that it’s empty, shuffles into his jeans and _accidentally_ forgets to change from Derek’s shirt into his own. It’s a nice shirt.

When he makes it downstairs he can see people passed out on the couches pushed up to the walls, and some on the floor; a few people are talking in hushed tones outside. The Sun is not up yet, but the sky is already a light grey color, and everything is so silent, and the whole scenario is so peaceful. Stiles is happy he didn’t get drunk last night, because this – this beautiful morning that he tries so hard to soak in and memorize – is too nice to miss because of a hangover.

He finds Lydia in the kitchen, sitting by herself. She looks like she’s about to fall asleep, her head bent down, strawberry blonde curls falling down and covering her face. Her tiny hand is curled around a mug that’s probably filled with coffee and she’s looking at her phone. She’s still in her costume.

“Hey,” he says quietly, his morning voice cracking a bit.

“Hi,” Lydia answers with a tired smile. “I’m gonna have to start throwing people out soon. Care to help?”

“Yeah, I’ll help.”

Stiles ends up staying all morning, helping Lydia clean up the house. It’s not a grateful job if you ask him, but he’s not going to leave Lydia all by herself to clean up this whole house. Stiles can’t help but notice how the girl seems out of it – she just looks like she needs hours and hours of sleep and someone to cheer her up. There’s something hanging in the air he can’t put his finger on; he just knows something is up, but doesn’t know what it is exactly. After about an hour of collecting trash and sending away cranky teenagers, Lydia stops whatever she’s doing and just tells without him asking.

“Jackson and I had a fight. I was so—I was stupid, I got jealous over nothing, and now he’s gone, and he’s not answering his phone,” Lydia says suddenly, and she seems so sad. Stiles is surprised for a moment because Lydia is letting down her guards, showing sadness, weakness, vulnerability. Then he gets over the initial shock that comes with the realization; suddenly he feels very grateful. Grateful that Lydia considers him such a close friend that she _trusts_ him with this, grateful that he has such an amazing best friend. He really, really loves Lydia and she really, really doesn’t deserve to be sad because of Jackson.

“What happened?” he asks, setting down the plastic bag he was using to collect trash. He takes a step towards Lydia and the petite girl falls into him, wrapping her arms around his middle. She breaks down crying, broken sobs escaping her, shoulders shaking with the force of it. Stiles doesn’t know what to do so he holds her, gently rocking their bodies back and forth, whispering comforting things to her. He hopes he can get across how much he cares about the girl, how much he wants her to just be happy again. “Do you want me to call Jackson?”

“No, it’s—it’s fine.” Comes the quiet answer. Lydia rubs her face with her hands, wiping away her tears and smearing her makeup. “He’ll come around. It was my fault this time anyway.”

Stiles stays all morning, until the house looks presentable again and Lydia looks better than she did in the morning. He stays, and he tells her about Derek, what he said to him, how much time they’ve been spending together. He tells her how he’s not exactly sure about Derek’s feelings, and when he thinks about it, he isn’t sure about his own either. She tries to give him advice but ends up talking about Jackson and gets that sad, tired look in her eyes again, so Stiles wraps his arms around her small shoulders and proceeds on talking about Derek. It’s working, it’s distracting her, and when he’s finally done talking about his feelings – things he wouldn’t even tell Scott – Lydia manages to give him proper advice for boy problems. She even laughs with him when he points out that her makeup is all smeared and she looks like the Joker, and it’s good, he feels good being with her.

*

The pictures end up on everyone’s phone, of course. Everyone in school is talking about the weekend and his outfit – even the people who didn’t attend the party at all. Stiles and Scott laugh their asses off when Allison shows them the pictures she took – Stiles standing in the center of the dance floor, his body bent in the shape of the letter C, people copying him all around the room (he’s pretty sure he made them spell the word “dick” because he’s mature like that); Scott and Isaac having a food fight that’s more of a booze fight; Lydia sitting in Jackson’s lap, pre-fight, laughing about something with her head thrown back, her beautiful hair covering half of Jackson’s face; Stiles cheekily pulling his skirt up, biting down on his thumb, winking; Danny imitating a gorilla, pulling a face that’s simply hideous. They laugh until they can’t anymore, and Stiles is happy he gets to spend some time with Scott again.

He goes back to practice (he’s working his way up to a proper split now, and he’s _so_ close). They practice groundwork and the routine they’re going to perform at the next game, which is an important one from what he can make out of the conversations going on around him. Braeden compliments him on his process. Lydia tells him she and Jackson are fine again. Kate Argent goes on about some chick Derek was kissing at the Halloween party and— _what_?

“What?” he asks before he can stop himself, his head snapping in the direction of the girl.

“What?” she shoots back, looking at him like he was gum stuck to the bottom of her shoe.

“What did you say about Derek?”

“I said he was making out with some chick on the weekend. I was looking for a room and I opened a door and they were just there. She was wearing his jacket and everything. Funny, because I can recall him telling me he liked me the day before, but oh well. Why, are you jealous?”

Stiles is almost sure he could call bullshit on Derek telling Kate he liked her, but he immediately forgets about it when it hits him – it’s him Kate is talking about. His back was facing the door and he still had the long wig on, and Derek gave Stiles his jacket because he was cold, and someone _did_ barge in on them, now that he thinks about it. The fact that it was Kate makes him flash a shit-eating grin, probably confusing her to no end.

“Nope, not at all,” he tells her, and it’s true because if someone is jealous it’s Kate.

He tries to ignore the fact that he hasn’t seen or talked to Derek in almost three days now; but no matter how hard he tries he just ends up thinking he fucked up somehow. Why else would Derek avoid him? Still, he hopes it’s not because of that.

Stiles almost texts him, types it in and then deletes it before he can hit “Send”. He figures if Derek wants to talk to him, he’ll come around.

*

Derek calls him on Wednesday. Stiles considers leaving his phone to ring, but he turns out to be weak and picks up.

“Hello?” He tries to sound like he _isn’t_ freaking out on the inside. He’s not sure if it works, because his voice still sounds pretty weak when he speaks.

“Stiles, hey.”

“Hi, Derek.”

“Uhmm.”

“Derek?”

“…Yes?”

“Do you still like me?”

He can hear a deep, thankful sigh from the other end of the line, and when Derek speaks up his voice is relieved and happy.

“I like you _so much_ , Stiles.”

Stiles can’t bring himself to fight his smile.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Heeey!  
> First of all, I'm sorry for making you wait so long for this chapter. I hope you still like it though!  
> I'm happy with how this turned out to be honest, I'm glad I took my time writing and re-writing it. I'm sorry for all the emotional stuff, you can blame [this song](http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=KoViCHyvZLk). I was listening to it on repeat while writing and the chapter just... happened.  
> Unbeta'd, so any mistakes are my own.  
> Please tell me your thoughts and opinions because I absolutely love to read all your comments! What do you think will happen? What would you like to happen? Did you have a good day? Tell me everything that crosses your mind!  
> You can find me on [tumblr](http://clemmingspls.tumblr.com/) as well, drop by if you'd like :)


	8. You love every bone in my body, especially yours

This new _thing_ between Derek and him is unlike anything Stiles has ever experienced before. He can’t recall a time he’s been this happy about seeing another person, talking to him or watching him play from the bleachers. He feels content and weightless whenever he thinks about Derek and he feels as if he’s finally where he’s supposed to be. Still, Stiles isn’t sure if it’s supposed to be this confusing. And it is – it’s _so confusing_ because sometimes Derek will ignore Stiles completely when they are having lunch at school but he will hold his hand when he drives Stiles home and kiss him goodbye. He will practice Stiles’ cheer routine with him but he won’t watch him perform it from the side of the field before a game like his teammates do. When some of the guys make some mean comments about Stiles while he’s changing, Derek will ignore it completely, refusing to stand up for Stiles even though he knows they would drop it if he told them to; but when they’re alone in the locker room, he will push Stiles up against the wall and kiss him until his lips feel numb. Sometimes he’ll stay up texting Stiles just because he knows the younger can’t sleep, and sometimes he’ll disappear for the whole weekend.

Stiles doesn’t mention it, because most of the time he’s too busy admiring Derek, or looking at Derek or kissing Derek, because he can do that now. He can get up from his bed, make his way to his desk and kiss Derek while they’re doing homework just because he wants to, and it’s amazing. They probably spend most of their study sessions making out instead of, you know, actually _studying_ (not that Stiles is complaining) and Stiles is kind of surprised his dad hasn’t caught on yet.

However, it’s been two weeks of this _totally-acting-like-boyfriends-but-not-being-actual-boyfriends_ thing they’ve got going on and Stiles isn’t sure if Derek just doesn’t care about labels or if he just doesn’t want to be his boyfriend. Is Derek ever going to ask him out properly? Or does he already think of them as boyfriends and Stiles is over thinking things _again_? Not to mention that Stiles is too much of a coward to ask him about it, so he keeps his mouth shut and enjoys everything he can have instead. Because, you know, what if he decides to ask Derek about it and ends up being rejected? That would be embarrassing and also kind of heartbreaking. So he waits.

*

“I’m sorry but you guys are so obvious it’s sickening,” Isaac says whey they’re changing after cheer practice. Everyone is gone, including Derek who told Stiles he’d be waiting outside for him, so they’re the only ones left in the locker room. Isaac is usually the first to be out of his clothes and he’s usually gone before Stiles even _starts_ showering, so he really should’ve suspected something like this.

Stiles stills with his shirt in one hand and his left shoe in the other, and whips his head around to look at Isaac so fast he almost falls. He manages to steady himself against his locker without dropping anything, never once tearing his gaze away from Isaac. He imagines how he must look with his mouth agape and his brows furrowed together, but the sudden outburst had really caught him off guard.

“What?” he squeaks out, his voice embarrassingly high. He clears his throat and continues. “What do you mean?”

The little shit just laughs at him. Not even a small laugh, no, the asshole bursts out laughing like Stiles is the funniest thing he’s seen in his entire lifetime, wiping the corners of his eyes and slapping his knee for like, _five minutes_ , while Stiles stands there _fuming_.

“What the hell is so funny? Please do tell—”

“Just—oh my god, your _face_! You should’ve seen your face dude!” Isaac exclaims between violent fits of laughter. He glances at Stiles’ face for a moment and starts laughing like a maniac again.

Stiles gives up after that, opts for waiting until Isaac is finished laughing at him, silently bidding goodbye to his dignity. Then the curly haired boy finally settles down, and Stiles is sure Derek is waiting for him but he’s not about to leave just now.

“What did you mean?” He whines pathetically, flashing Isaac a hurt look.

“I mean, I’m sure none of _his_ meathead teammates have noticed yet, but come on. It’s pretty obvious that you’re fucking.”

Stiles kind of chokes on his tongue.

“I—we’re not—I mean what? That’s just—” he sputters intelligently, causing Isaac to giggle (fucking _giggle_!) at him.

 _Now_ , he decides, right now would be the appropriate moment for the earth to open up and swallow him completely. Not only did Isaac notice him acting like a preteen with a crush around Derek, but he also seems to think that he’s doing it with him, like doing _it_ , doing _Derek_. Having _sex_.  With _Derek_. And oh god, if that isn’t something he wants to do, but right now isn’t the place nor the time to be thinking about such things.

Isaac just keeps looking at him with that knowing look on his face, and Stiles wants to slap it off his face, but Isaac is still bigger than him, so he decides against it. He’s pretty sure he’s only told Lydia about this, whatever _this_ is, because he tells her everything (and because there’s no point in trying to keep something from her when it comes to Stiles’ sad little love life). He’s also sure Lydia wouldn’t tell anyone without asking Stiles first, so his crush on Derek and their current _not-boyfriends_ situation must really be obvious. Stiles will have to learn to be more subtle and keep his hands to himself in public. Derek probably doesn’t want anyone to know, he thinks, that’s probably why he only ever does anything with Stiles where others can’t see them. Maybe he’s afraid. Or maybe he’s ashamed, Stiles thinks bitterly.

The other thing is, Stiles isn’t sure if Derek even wants to do anything other than making out with him. He just can’t see himself as an object of desire, let alone Derek’s object of desire. It makes his heart heavy, but it’s something he can’t help thinking about.

Isaac quickly notices the sudden change in atmosphere and the disappointed look on his teammate’s face because he’s at Stiles’ side in a second, looking like a kicked puppy himself. He lays a warm hand on Stiles’ shoulder and looks at him with these huge doe eyes, and invites him out for hot chocolate. They agree to go out tomorrow, because Derek is waiting for Stiles and he can’t stand him up, and Stiles is so grateful that he somehow managed to make such amazing friends on cheer. Because even if Isaac likes to tease him and even if he doesn’t know why Stiles suddenly lost all of his humor from one second to another, he still decided to go out of his way to offer him support. That’s how Stiles knows Isaac is a real friend, a good one, one that’s worth keeping.

Just before they part ways he promises to text Isaac tonight about that hot chocolate. Isaac makes his way over to the bike racks while Stiles strides towards where Derek is parked. And when he sees him leaning against the side of his car, typing away on his phone, Stiles gets that bubbly feeling in his chest again, forgets everything and smiles brightly, and he’s happy because—well… just because.

*

It all comes down to a Friday afternoon. Somewhere in between Derek pulling him on top of his body, panting hotly into his mouth and Derek grabbing Stiles’ ass with both hands, causing him to roll his hips down against his own, Stiles panics. Derek notices it, too because he stops all his movements immediately, his hands coming up to rest on Stiles’ biceps. His eyes focus in on Stiles’ face, trying to figure out why there is currently a very still, very scared looking teenage boy on top of him.

“Are you okay?” asks Derek without moving a muscle – like he’s afraid if he does Stiles will flee like a stray cat on the street.

Stiles is not okay.

“Just… This is so embarrassing.” He mutters, refusing to meet Derek’s eyes.

“What’s embarrassing?” The older boy asks, sitting up without letting Stiles move from his lap. He takes hold of Stiles’ hips, rubbing soothing circles into his skin through fabric.

Contrary to popular belief, Stiles _is_ a teenage boy, with the body and mindset of a teenage boy. He also happens to be bisexual (or more like, Derek-sexual lately) so a hot and bothered Derek Hale under him is bound to get him hard. It’s inevitable, just like death. God, even thinking about Derek gets him flustered most times, let alone having his rock hard body underneath Stiles’ own. And don’t get him wrong, he’s not exactly new to popping a boner while they’re making out – but said boner never actually came in contact with Derek before until now, and no matter how badly he _wants_ , Stiles knows Derek probably doesn’t want the same thing.

He only has to glance downwards briefly, and Derek gets it. His mouth forms a perfect “o” shape, which is not really helping Stiles’ case right now.

“Stiles,” he whispers, his eyes suddenly softening while his hands come up to caress the younger boy’s sides slowly. Up and down, up and down. Then breathing is the only thing Stiles can hear in the quiet room besides the pounding of his heart.

“Do you want to stop?” Derek asks, and just like that, everything Stiles thought up until this point flies out the window. The way Derek is looking at him, the caring in his voice and the fondness in his eyes, and the softening of his touch – it’s like he doesn’t want to force Stiles into anything, it’s like saying it’s okay if he doesn’t want to. It’s like he thinks _Stiles_ is the one who wouldn’t want this. And that… well, that kind of makes sense, seeing that Derek is a teenage boy too and all.

“I…” Stiles croaks out intelligently. “I don’t, but I thought maybe you wouldn’t want to. You know. But I really—”

Stiles doesn’t get to finish his sentence, chokes on his words because this might just be the hottest thing that’s ever happened to him. While he is talking, Derek’s left hand grips his right and guides it to his crotch, letting Stiles feel the hardness in his jeans. His expression changes into something else, something darker, his gaze deepening with lust when the younger boy’s hand comes in contact with his erection, their skin still separated by two layers of clothing. This whole situation is overwhelming; Derek’s dark, hungry gaze on him, the tight grip with which he pulls Stiles even closer to him, not really kissing him but close enough to do it if he wanted to, and the warmth of the air he breathes onto Stiles’ lips. It’s all too much and not nearly enough at the same time. Stiles imagines he must have the facial expression of a fish with his gaping mouth and wide eyes but he can’t bring himself to care.

“This is what you do to me,” Derek whispers into his mouth in such a deep voice it sends shivers down his spine, pressing Stiles’ hand down with his own, moving his hips slowly to let Stiles feel him through his trousers.

Then Stiles starts moving his hand on his own, his fingers tentatively curling around the outline of Derek’s cock. Derek’s left hand leaves from between them to join his other in caressing Stiles’ sides, his things, his back. When they kiss again, it’s more tongue than lips, both of them eager to finally explore a whole new stage of intimacy with each other. Derek lies back down, pulling Stiles on top of him once again, but this time Stiles doesn’t pull away, just increases the pressure of his hand while settling on his knees, hovering over Derek’s body. Derek’s large, warm hands are everywhere, leaving goose bumps breaking out on Stiles’ skin wherever they go.

Stiles is high on Derek.

The way Derek tastes and the way his touch is gentle but firm at the same time and how he makes Stiles feel _wanted_ with every little thing he does. Two hands coming between their bodies, fumbling with his zipper have Stiles practically shaking with anticipation. He’s so hard it’s ridiculous, he thinks, but then he mimics Derek’s actions, undoing the buttons of his jeans and cupping him much more easily through his underwear and he feels that Derek is just as hard as he is. Derek groans into his mouth, swats his hand away and then pulls Stiles flush against his body, their erections against each other creating the most _delicious_ friction.

Stiles breaks away from Derek with an embarrassing whine, gasping for air as he proceeds to grind down against him. Strong, persistent hands are under his shirt now, hitching it up as they go higher and higher until Stiles’ shirt is flung across the room, soon followed by Derek’s. The feeling of skin on skin is incredible, Stiles decides, almost as incredible as Derek’s perfect mouth biting down on his skin and sucking _hard_ , probably leaving a hickey. Hopefully leaving a hickey. Stiles never gave much thought to hickeys before, but the thought of having lasting evidence of what they are doing now, the thought of Derek leaving a mark on him makes him elicit a moan so loud he thinks about double-checking his father’s schedule.

“Take it _off_ ,” He pulls at the waistband of Derek’s jeans and stands up to get rid of his own trousers while Derek kicks off his own with his underwear in one swift motion. Stiles looks at Derek and almost falls over trying to step out of his jeans because this – Derek laid out on his bed, all hard muscles and long limbs and smooth skin – is better than any porn he’s ever seen or will ever see. Stiles swallows hard when his eyes land on Derek’s cock, flushed red against the tan skin of his stomach, the length and girth of it making him self-conscious and making his mouth water at the same time. Derek’s gaze never leaves him as he quickly shucks his boxers off and he’s hit with a sudden feeling of being exposed immediately. As Derek’s eyes rake over his body, his dick twitches, shooting up in the general direction of Stiles’ ceiling and then falling back onto his stomach, and fuck if that doesn’t give Stiles a boost of confidence.

Derek holds out his hand and arches an eyebrow, and Stiles lets himself be pulled back against him. He lets out a totally manly squeal of surprise as Derek flips them over, throwing Stiles on his back and settling between his legs without hesitation. The feeling of Derek’s hard length lined up with his own is _heavenly_. Stiles wounds his legs around Derek’s hips and the older grips onto his thigh – for leverage or to keep him from squirming, Stiles doesn’t know –, his other arm coming up to hold himself up by his elbow next to Stiles, his fingers raking through the younger boy’s hair.

“Oh my god,” Stiles moans, his head falling back against the pillow and his eyes shut tight, the sensation sending his mind into a frenzy. When he opens his eyes again, Derek is still looking at him, his eyes dark and hooded by lust and honestly, Stiles could come on the spot, alright.

With every thrust of Derek’s hips, Stiles can feel himself get closer and closer to the edge. He starts rolling his hips upwards to meet Derek’s thrusts halfway, and the feeling gets even better. Then he licks over his palm, making sure to use lots of spit and also making sure to look Derek directly in the eyes as he does so, and then bringing his hand between them to grasp their erections, first Derek’s and then his own. With both of their cocks wet, the slick feeling is even better, and then Derek leans down to suck on Stiles’ neck again and it’s _even better_ , god. With every second it just gets better and better, hotter and more amazing.

A slight nudge and the body over his shifting has him opening his eyes, wondering why Derek stopped moving – and then Stiles is on top again, Derek managing to manhandle him completely, which is so _incredibly_ hot he must be dreaming. They come together in a needy kiss full of tongue and teeth, both of them too far gone to slow down. He starts rolling his hips again, the feeling of their erections trapped between their bodies just as hot as Derek’s tongue in his mouth.

Stiles presses back into Derek’s hands as they knead into the soft flesh of his ass, pulling him harshly against him, their motions growing more and more frantic with each thrust. Stiles knows he’s making noise, moaning and gasping between kisses, sighing Derek’s name into his mouth, but he couldn’t stop if he wanted to. He tangles his fingers into Derek’s styled hair, pulling on the soft strands harshly, which has the older moaning loudly. Stiles drinks in every noise he pulls out of Derek, memorizes it and relishes in it, priding himself on getting Derek so worked up. Stiles thinks he looks beautiful like this, with his hair messy and his cheeks flushed and his eyebrows drawn together, eyes hooded and his face contorted in pleasure.

As they continue to move frantically against each other, Stiles’ head drops onto Derek’s shoulder, unable to focus on anything else but the pleasure building inside of him. When one of Derek’s fingers comes between his cheeks to rest against his hole, Stiles snaps his head up in surprise at the foreign feeling of it, looks at Derek with wonder in his eyes. The slightest pressure has him whining and dropping his head again to nibble on the spot where Derek’s neck meets his shoulder. It’s such an incredible feeling in the weirdest way, and Stiles can’t decide if it’s the fact that Derek is touching him in such a sensitive area or the stimulation itself, but it makes Stiles go crazy with need, his fingers clawing at the sheets and his teeth sinking into Derek’s soft flesh.

It’s not long before Stiles is a sobbing, moaning mess on top of Derek. His mind is completely fogged up by pleasure, and his brain-to-mouth filter disappears completely, causing him to choke out various swearwords and Derek’s name every next second.

“ _Please_ ,” he whines into Derek’s mouth, and he doesn’t know what he’s begging for, all he knows is that he needs to express how unreal this feeling is, but doesn’t know how to voice it. Derek’s finger is a constant, steady pressure on his asshole, and it makes Stiles go crazy, it makes him want _more_. “Please,” he whimpers again, followed by a choked sob, unable to express what he exactly wants because his mind can’t function properly, completely lost to the sensations. Derek seems to get it, though, because the next thing Stiles feels is more pressure, hard and dry, until the first digit of Derek’s finger is inside him.

Stiles gasps at the feeling and pushes back onto the finger until it’s completely inside of him, too far gone to feel embarrassed about the loud, desperate sounds constantly spilling from his lips. It takes one, two, three more thrusts, and then he’s coming, the combined feeling of Derek’s cock sliding against his own and Derek’s index finger buried inside him sending him over the edge. He lets out a high-pitched moan as his orgasm rips through him, his eyes shut tight and his whole body shaking as he rides it out, spilling onto Derek with deep, heavy gasps. He’s never, ever felt anything that comes even remotely close to this – he feels complete. He also feels completely in love with Derek.

Derek, who is still thrusting up against him, so Stiles moves back and feels grateful that Derek removes his finger because in his post-orgasm oversensitivity it’s more uncomfortable than it is pleasant. His hand curls around Derek’s cock quickly, stroking him like he would do to himself, flicking his wrist and tightening his grip around the head. Derek’s clean hand comes up to stroke his neck, his face, his lips, and Stiles sucks two of Derek’s fingers into his mouth eagerly. That’s what does it for Derek – Stiles looking so fucked out in his post-orgasm haze, sucking on his fingers shamelessly and jerking him off with practiced ease. His moans grow louder and louder, and he pulls Stiles against himself when he comes, doesn’t let him go until his body stops quivering with the waves of his orgasm. He looks utterly beautiful, Stiles thinks while Derek falls back onto his sheets completely boneless.

He looks down at the combination of their semen on Derek’s stomach and gets up in search of some clothes. He tugs on a clean pair of boxers and retrieves some tissues to clean up the mess they made with. Derek smiles at him gratefully, fondness written all over his face and Stiles’ heart does that fluttery thing where it feels as if it’s too big, ready to pound out of his chest at any given minute. Maybe they really _are_ boyfriends. He helps Derek back into his own pair of boxers but fails to get him under the covers because he’s already out sleeping. Stiles climbs back into his too small bed and curls up against Derek’s side, smiling to himself. He thinks about texting Lydia about what just happened, but before he can act on it his head falls onto Derek’s shoulder and his arm curls around him, and the warmth of the skin under his fingers and Derek’s steady breathing lulls him into sleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey there! [hides]  
> Okay, so I've been putting this off forever because I lost all inspiration for this fic, but as I was reading my notes and the storyline I have for this I just needed to pick it up again. I'm sorry this took so long, you probably all hate me. However, I'm back on track with this! Wooo! There is also smut.  
> I cut this off here because I'm cliché af, I didn't want to end this chapter on some cheerleader-y note so you'll have to wait for that until the next one.  
> I'm kind of nervous about this (read: very nervous), so please leave your thoughts and opinions in the comments. Did it suck? Was it okay? Was it good? Tell me! :)  
> Unbeta'd, so any mistakes are my own. Please don't be afraid to point them out, i appreciate it :)  
> 


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